


Until the Stars Fade

by LetTheShipsBurn



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alqualondë, Amon Lanc, Anal Sex, Ancient Warlord Bonding Time, Angband, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Beating, Beleriand, Bloodplay, Boats, Boys Kissing, Breaking and Entering, Bromance, Bromance to Romance, Captivity, Confessions, Consensual Violence, Control, Dagor Bragollach, Desire, Domination, Doriath, Drunk Elves, Drunken Flirting, Duty, Ear Kisses, Elf Culture & Customs, Elf Party, Elves, Emotional, Epic, Epic Bromance, Escape, F/M, Fall of Gondolin, First Age, First Kinslaying, First Kiss, First Time, Flight of the Noldor, Forehead Touching, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Fëanorean, Gay Elf Smut, Gentleness, Gift Giving, Gondolin, Gossip, Gossipy Elves, Hand Jobs, Handsome Elf-lords, Illuvarion, Inevitable, Intimacy, Irritable Sorcerer Problems, Jewelry, Kinky, Kinslaying, Laiquendi, Licking, Loneliness, Long Hair, Loss, Loss of Limbs, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Making Friends, Making Out, Marriage Proposal, Married Couple, Menegroth, Names, Napping, Nervousness, Non-Consensual Haircuts, Oath of Fëanor, Oh No He's Hot, Orovarion, Passion, Permanent Injury, Post-Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Power Dynamics, Pregnancy, Prophetic Visions, Quenya, Recovery, Romance, Rough Sex, Royalty, S&M, Scars, Scratching, Second Age, Secret Relationship, Self-Doubt, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sexual Inexperience, Sharing a Bed, Shipwrecks, Sindarin, Sindarin Hair Kink, Sirion, Sleepy Cuddles, Smooth Oro, Soft Noldor Thighs, Sorcery Kink, Soulmates, Stargazing, Submission, Tbh it's really not that violent, Tenderness, The Butt Stuff, The Future, The Moriquendi, The Noldor, The Sindar, The feels, Torture, Tragedy, Undressing, Valinor, Visions, War of Wrath, Warlord Romance, Weddings, Wood-elf Wasted, Years of the Trees, elves behaving badly, sorcery, teleri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 18:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 24,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7982284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetTheShipsBurn/pseuds/LetTheShipsBurn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of love and loss through the ages of Arda. </p><p>The story of Silwë Illuvarion, in which one of the Firstborn, awakened at Cuiviénen and brought to dwell beneath the Two Trees, follows his Noldor people to loss and exile in Beleriand, and seeks a new life in the East.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silwë of Valinor

**_The Years of the Trees — Valinor_ **

 

Silwë loved the stars, and that is how he was named; for that name means _Star-light_ in the language of the Noldor, Quenya, granted to him when first the language was new. He had come upon the Great Journey from the East, through the darkened Greenwood and over the mountains, and across the great sea to Aman, where he dwelt with the Noldor, his people, under the light of the Two Trees. 

He was tall and slight, fair-skinned with raven-dark hair that fell long and straight, and he adorned it with the trappings of his craft: beads, cut gems, circlets and chain, small bells and carven hair-sticks. Though he had no particular talent at song and dance, like many elves did, he enjoyed fine clothing and wine, and had no dislike for parties, though he ever seemed lost in thought. He was vain, in some ways, though he did not find himself remarkably beautiful; he simply loved formality and things pleasing to the eye.  

He was a jewel-smith, of no insubstantial talent, and he spent his days in Valinor studying at the forge and bench of the Vala Aulë, the Smith, learning the arts and lore of metal and jewels. From him, and his kinsmen, Silwë learned too the deep, esoteric ways in which the Noldor worked their craft, creating singular items deemed enchanted by many who saw them. He was skilled at this, and that which later, in Beleriand, was deemed sorcery; the control of emotion and manifestations, and of visions.

He dwelt in a small cottage set back in a wood, where he had a workshop and a forge of his own, and would spend his time at either for hours at a time, sometimes days. He did not take a wife, nor did he have friends of any note; but he was happy, and his neighbors thought him pleasant. The look of youth was upon him then, though he was never young; he was often found sitting on the foot-bridge outside his home in the company of a large orange cat called Airwë, which meant _Orange._  

And so it was for many years, happy at his work and his learning, with his cat and his anvil and his forge, his jewelry, fine robes and his carven hair-sticks. The Noldor had not yet learned fear.

But Melkor came, in friendship, or so he said. He poisoned the minds of the Noldor, ever so slightly, and they grew suspicious of the Valar and of those who were not their kin; the Noldor learnt the craft of fine weapons and armour, though they knew not yet what for. Fëanor, the son of the High King of the Noldor, Finwë, grew paranoid and violent, and was expelled as he drew his sword upon his half-brother, Fingolfin. 

Then Melkor brought to Valinor Ungoliant, and destroyed the Trees, and all was dark. He murdered Finwë and stole Fëanor’s jealously-guarded treasures, the three Silmarils, and fled to Beleriand. Fëanor, in rage, defied the Valar, and raised many of his people to follow him to Beleriand in revenge, to win back the jewels. Silwë, as many Noldor, felt that by this act his people had been wronged, and took up arms and armour to follow Fëanor, now the High King, to war with Melkor, now called Morgoth. 

Silwë adjusted the armour he had crafted, not used to being dressed in this way. He was a craftsman, not a soldier; but then, none of the Noldor were soldiers. Not yet. As a smith and a jeweler, he was unable to resist a bit of purely decorative flourish, and the graceful but very functional breastplate was set at the chest with the eight-pointed Fëanorean star. He slipped his red cloak around his shoulders, and locked the door to his workshop.

A languid meow came from the grass by the footpath, and a big, handsome orange cat strolled out of the reeds. He stopped and regarded Silwë in the way only cats seem to be able. He knew something was afoot.

“Airwë, do not look at me that way. I will return soon.”

He picked the beast up and nuzzled his face into the soft, sun-warmed fur. Airwë began licking his master’s hair, and then his face. Setting the orange bundle down, Silwë knelt and offered his hand. The cat gave it several licks, and then rubbed his body against it; blinking his large green eyes, he looked up at the elf expectantly.

“I will be home soon,” Silwë said, giving his beloved pet one last scratch behind the ear. “I promise.”

The cat rolled over in the dirt, and fell asleep with his stomach in the air, as Silwë walked down a path to a road, and down the road to the beach. He stopped there a while, and picked up a stone. It was small, no larger than the size of his thumb-nail, but it was smooth and even-colored, a shimmering white common to the shores of the Undying Lands. He slipped it into his pocket. _For luck,_ he thought.

He walked on.


	2. The Warlord of the Noldor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon recollection, perhaps this was a bad idea.

**_Recollections of Our Flight to Beleriand:_ **

 

_Panting slightly and stained with blood, I watched the port burn. How many had diet at my hands, then? Dozens? Who then was left to sate my need for violence? I coldly surveyed the empty streets, populated only by lifeless forms and wreckage. The destruction was near total._

_“Aiya,” I heard a voice call. “Silwë! We depart, join us! Victory is ours, brother! We sail for Beleriand, and vengeance!”_

_I cannot sail, though others knew how, and I sat upon the deck of this marvelous vessel as the sails filled above me. It cut the water, eastward, like a knife through silk; silent. I did not look back. In the mirrored steel of my gauntlet, I saw myself – bloodstained. At the time, my vanity spoke to me, and I was thrilled._

_“Let the ships burn.” said Fëanor, once our host had gathered._

_We would not return to the aid of Fingolfin’s folk. This betrayal seemed nothing to me then; we had won this passage ourselves. The Telerin Swan-boats were set ablaze. We did not realize that with them perished the youngest of Fëanor’s sons. He had been forgotten. A shadow fell that night upon us, but we set upon our course. It could not be helped._

_The years to follow were a haze of blood and loss and victory. By my sword a great many foes were slain. I felt nothing for them, nor for myself; I was consumed by a deep, burning rage I barely understood._

_Though I do not have the stature of a warrior – I am slight of build but resilient – I rose to lead a company of my kinsmen. Warlord, I was titled. Commander. Despite all, my thirst for violence was matched only by my vanity and pride; I knew little pleasure but that of bloodshed and pain. I was remorseless, as well; both at Alqualondë and in the years to follow. I was the named Silwë Rúsënar; Silwë the Wrathful, for I knew no fear nor pity, only rage._

_Silwë Rúsënar, Warlord of the Noldor._

_I wore this name with pride for many, many years. The hopeful, gentle craftsman I once was perished that fateful night, as first I drove my sword through the throat of a young Telerin shipwright, who spat at me in defiance, and spilt blood for the first time._

_I kicked his lifeless body into the sea, and he who I was died with him._

 

Silwë,  
Recorded _[Illegible]_ , **[ Word Inked Over ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may recognize this as a rewrite of another work I have published; it is part of this larger work and was published by itself as a vignette.


	3. Of War, Victory, and Defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are going so well for the Noldor... For a while. 
> 
> Isn't that just always how it is, when you're the Noldor?

It was dark, and the world lit only by fire and stars, as the _Dagor-nuin-Giliath_ was fought. Under the stars, it was called in the future. Ten days the battle raged, of Fëanor and his Noldorin host against the forces of Morgoth in the Mountains of Shadow. Outnumbered and greatly surrounded, somehow, the Noldor were victorious. 

Silwë received then his first command, and earned the title Cáno. He was cunning, and ruthless. No sign of the self he had been remained, but for the slightest hints buried so deeply even he could not reach them. He did not care; there was work to be done. 

The Noldor withdrew south, to prepare. Sixty years after the first rising of the Sun over Beleriand, Morgoth launched an offensive. The Noldor were ready, and in what was known as the most glorious of battles, the _Dagor Aglareb_ , his forces were crushed, and the Siege of Angband was set.

There was a time of peace.

Silwë had no personal affinity for any of Feanor's sons over another (he rather felt they were all rather incompetent, though he'd not say so until far later in life), and chose ultimately to settle with Caranthir’s people in Thargelion. Wishing to reclaim perhaps some of the peace he had in Valinor, he set out on his own, deep into a wood at the foot of the mountains, near the river Ascar. He built by  his own hands a lodge of stone and timber, and a forge nearby; here he dwelt and worked at his craft for four hundred years, in peace.

He felt some sense of accomplishment and traded at times with the dwarves of nearby Nogrod, jewelry and weaponry for metals and gems, fine silks and clothing and wine.

It was, from time to time, lonely, though he did not understand the meaning of this feeling, yet. 

The depth of winter found rivers of flame and hatred pouring out of the north as Morgoth’s vast armies of orcs and Balrogs, led by the dragon Glaurung, destroyed all in their wake. Though he mustered his people in Thargelion, it was no use; the Noldor were crushed, the survivors scattered.

Silwë and his small company fled to Himlad, seeking refuge.


	4. Pain and Suffering in Doriath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silwë gets injured, looks for help, and spends a year or so "enjoying" the "hospitality" of his "esteemed hosts" in Menegroth.
> 
> Bonus: Souvenirs!? :|

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not quite as violent as the tags and warnings make it sound, but it is still somewhat graphic.

**_FA 456 — Menegroth_ **

**_Of My Year Lost in Doriath:_ **

****

_The siege was broken. Morgoth’s accursed forces had overrun Himlad, where we had fled. Chaos ruled then, and this time was later known as the Dagor Braigollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame._

_I led my small company into the dreadful wilds of Nan Dungortheb, the haunted valley south of the Ered Gorgoroth, seeking for refuge at Gondolin._

_We were beset in the vale by a band of orcs, and I lost several of my kinsmen; the rest scattered. I continued alone, but the journey grew too dangerous, and my injuries hindered me. I thought to seek aid in Doriath, though I knew the Moriquendi who dwelt there to be distrustful of the Noldor. Near to Menegroth, I prepared myself for the Halls of Mandos, but soon beheld a figure in the half-light — tall, and clad in elvish-made armor. One of my kinsmen had found me._

“Aiya! Á tulë sinomë, nányë Silwë, ná harna!” _I cried out in Quenya.  
_ —— _Come, it is Silwë, I am injured._

_A pause — and then I heard a voice call out in Sindarin, a language I did not yet understand, and another answer. These were not my kinsmen – I had been discovered by a band of the Moriquendi, likely elves of Doriath seeking to hold their borders. The elf stepped from the shadows, sword drawn. He spoke to me in his unfamiliar tongue, and I did not understand._

“Lá istan quetë lambëtya” _I said in my own tongue.  
_ —— _I do not speak your language._

_“What business have you in our lands, follower of accursed Fëanor?” he asked in slow Quenya, pronouncing these words as though they tasted bitter in his mouth._

_“My kinsmen and I were beset by enemies. My company was scattered, and I have been injured. I seek aid in Doriath._

_The elf regarded me. He was tall, though not as tall as I, and had the silvery hair typical of the Telerin elves. I saw only hate in his eyes. His kinsman joined him, and they conferred in their tongue for a time. I was taken captive and imprisoned in Menegroth, where I remained for the better part of a year. Or the worse part. I was not to receive aid._

_I spat at him the first time he struck me, and cursed him in Quenya._

_“My family was slain at the Swan-havens, and I smell their blood on you yet. I do not intend your release.” he half-growled, and half spoke. These were the last words spoken to me in a language I understood, and though my captors made demands and insulted me in Sindarin, I did not understand._

_I do not know how long I was kept, for after the first week or two I stopped counting. I was doomed, of course, by my actions at Alqualondë, so I did not hope for death, either. I simply existed, and for this time, my existence was pain._

_In those days, I wore my hair long, and had never cut it, not since I had arrived in Valinor and not since I had left for Beleriand. The elves of Doriath are highly superstitious in matters involving their hair, for reasons I have never understood. Needless to say, mine was shorn close nearly immediately. I was vain, and proud, and while the Noldor do not bear such superstitious beliefs about our hair, it pained me much more than I had thought it would._

_The days were good when it was simply beatings, and perhaps deprivation of food. But I was often made to suffer in other ways, some more creative than others. Most were simply wanton and violent; my main captor wielded many implements of torture against me. They allowed me time to run, thinking that I would indulge their desire to chase me. I did not, and simply put my back to the wall and my hands over my chest and face to protect myself, for I would rather bear the lash of whips on my sides than my face._

_And this is where the creativity came in. For when they had realized that I was far more heavily injured on my sides than anywhere else, it was obvious that this could be put to nefarious ends. I did not try to keep accurate mental records of the ways in which my wounds were kept from healing, but they were many. Sand, boiling or freezing water, broken pieces of small rocks. Hot metal. More whip lashes. Thorns._

_I still bear these scars to this day, jagged and violent, up both my sides from hip to chest._

_I lay shivering and bleeding one day, wondering if perhaps Doriath was where Morgoth dwelt in secret. I would have asked how it was possible for the Eldar to enact such things upon each other, but I did not. I knew damn well how. On some level, perhaps, I wondered if I deserved this._

_A new face came to the room in which I was kept, one afternoon. She spoke no Quenya, but looked concerned, and horrified. She gestured to my wounds, extensive all over, but worst upon my sides, of course. I understood generally that she was no healer, but that she would bandage me, which she did. She took me to the gates, and to my freedom. Exhausted and beyond care, I stole someone's horse — what was the worst that could happen? I rode hard to Gondolin._

_When I arrived, my kinsmen were frantic; they thought I had perished. But I had arrived. Injured, weak, with hair cut short and in ill-fitting Doriathian clothing. It had been nearly a year._

_"Silwë, what happened?" someone eventually asked, days later, when I had recovered enough to leave my bed._

_“I sought aid in Doriath," I said. "I asked only for aid. They tortured me.”_

_I returned to my quarters, closed the door, and wept._

 

Silwë, 

Recorded F.A. 457, Gondolin


	5. Ainurél

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The great cities of the Noldor and Sindar fall to ruin, but in the Havens of Sirion, there is kindness and compassion. A new friend is made, and for the first time, a consideration of the future.
> 
> Perhaps even the most broken of souls can heal, in time. Perhaps not.
> 
> Time will tell.

When first Silwë came to the Havens of Sirion, along with the others who had survived the devastation at both Gondolin and throughout Doriath, he wanted nothing but to be left alone. And so, for the first ten years, there he dwelt – alone, on the outskirts.

He took to spending his days near a small pool that was shaded by trees and far from those who would bother him. Months passed, and he spent his days there, profoundly broken, staring into the water and hoping for something to change, but unwilling to wish it so.

In the late afternoon, in his twelfth year of dwelling at the Havens, he was not alone. An elf-maiden had come to sit by the pool, and said nothing, simply sat and kept him company. A few hours passed, and he beheld her. She was of Doriath, her hair the colour of the sun in winter, silvery-golden, and the sun too touched her skin, tinting it golden as well. She was young; perhaps in her hundred-fiftieth year.

He looked to her, then and said “I am Silwë.”

She looked back, eyes the colour of the deep forest, so deep green they were nearly black. “My name is Ainurél.”

“I thank you, Ainurél, for your company.” He was ever formal, and stood to offer her his hand. She accepted it, and his help up.

“…You are very tall,” Ainurél observed, an easy smile coming to her face.

“I am.” Silwë looked at her. “Shall I expect your company again?”

“If you wish.” Ainurél smiled again.

“…I do.” Silwë began to feel the need to escape. “Good night, Ainurél.”

“Goodnight, Silwë.” 

He walked home, a bit perplexed by this. It had been long years, more than he could count, since he had been treated with random kindness by an utter stranger. He returned, and she kept him company again, quietly. He appreciated this; it went on for many days, until one day, he felt the urge to speak to her. 

“I… I came from Gondolin,” he whispered. “It was a nightmare. So many..”

They spoke often, after this reaching out. Of things lighthearted in nature, and he listened more than he spoke, for she had more lightheartedness in her than he would ever know, he thought. She was young, still, and full of both hope and life. Her eyes shone when she spoke of her weaving, her music and poetry. She showed her work to Silwë, who was impressed, truly, by the textiles she wove. He gave her beads to embellish them, and said he had crafted them himself, for he was once a jewel-crafter and metalworker.

“Silwë,” she asked, “Have you been alone for a long time?” 

“I have.” He looked at her oddly. “Why do you ask me this?” 

“You are sad beyond the wear of a city falling.” She saw this within him, his isolation.

“…I am old, Ainurél. I am tired.” He fought a shudder, and felt a chill at her wisdom beyond her few years. “I am too tired to speak any longer today, Ainurél. Forgive me.” 

Many days turned to weeks and then months.

Silwë grew accustomed to her company, and a year passed. And faint, deep within, he felt a quiet, warm feeling of contentment. He wished for this companionship. And though he had never thought to marry, certainly not in these later days, he considered this possibility. And decided, that if she would have him, he would become her husband. He was sad, when he thought of the passion and romance, the desire of which he’d oft heard; these were things of which he was not capable, for he was broken. He could offer her, he thought, that which he was; nothing more. And he would deny her nothing, for she had given him kindness and hope.

One night he went to her, and they stood and looked upon the ocean together over a stonework balcony.

“Ainurél…” He began. “I am not a being of passion and desire, Ainurél. I am old. But I have grown accustomed to you, and I look forward to your company. You have treated me with kindness, always. If you would have me, I wish to be your husband.” 

She turned slowly, as though she had long expected this. “I will gladly have you, Silwë.”

“We will be parted, someday.” He warned her. “Forever. I will not be able to follow you. My people… We…”

“I know,” she said, with a wisdom beyond her age. “When I have left, I wish that you not suffer exile in solitude for all the ages. Will you not find a companion, for my sake? A friend, at least?” 

“…I do not know, Ainurél. If this comes to pass, it comes to pass.” 

They wed, an exchange of promises, but not vows. Silwë would swear no oaths.

It was as they wished.

 


	6. So Soon?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ainurél has something to share, and Silwë finally feels something.
> 
> Intimacy, on both parts.

It was summer, and it was far too hot in his small workshop to accomplish much. Silwë wandered into the courtyard, and leaned upon a rail, looking over the sea. It was night, and though she oft went to bed early, Ainurél joined him, and stood at his side a while, then put her hand over his.

“You are good to me, Ainurél.” Silwë looked at her. “Ever have you been. I ask myself why.” 

“You are my friend, Silwë. And you are my husband.” Ainurél smiled to him. He took her hands, the one gesture of affection he could show her easily. She gave him a wink. “You are also the father of my child…”

Astonished, he stared at her, feeling his heart nearly stop in his chest. “Ainurél?” He asked.

“You are to be a father, Silwë.” She beamed, and gave a surprised and happy squeak as he uncharacteristically embraced her closely, without warning. He was a quiet person, his emotions were deep and buried such that even he felt little; but at this moment, he did. He kissed the top of her head, for though she was easily six and a half feet in height, he was far taller than she.

“How… So soon?” He seemed surprised; their relationship was largely non-physical, and they had been married but a year. They had lain together perhaps three times? It was not unpleasant, nor was it a chore; but the two felt little drive to do so, for their marriage was in many ways rather unconventional. But...

“Indeed,” she laughed. “Three tries?”

“…we could make it four, to be sure.” The flirtation was nothing like him, and he did not feel _desire_ as such, no passionate need; but as little as he could feel usually, this moment when he could feel _anything_ , he wished to be her husband, present, as he should have been always. “If you would have me.” 

“I would.” She purred quietly, and took his hand, and he pulled her into his lap. Undoing the clasps of his robe, she kissed his ear, and he sighed, running his hands up her sides, feeling soft skin against his fingers, and her weight upon him. He pulled her close to him, and she traced gentle lines into the skin of his back. She was warm, and so soft, and when she finally cried out and fell against him, panting, her sudden passion surprised him; he shivered and let himself find the same release, though his was a quiet satiety.

“Ainurél…” Silwë felt everything vibrant and emotional fade, and he held her. The pride, the anticipation; that stayed. The warm feelings, the joy, the spontaneous ability to _be with his wife_ , that was gone, again. Perhaps someday… He sighed. “I am so broken, my wife. Forgive me. But just… For a while…”

“No, Silwë.” She kissed his cheek. “You are healing.”

He placed his hand on her stomach, gently, still a bit overwhelmed, through it all. "...I will try."


	7. She Is, As You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Childbearing in the middle of summer is miserable, and Ainurél is pretty much completely over it.

She came to his quarters, late, as he sat in bed. He looked questioningly, and without so much as a word, Ainurél threw herself across her husband’s lap, sobbing. Silwë was alarmed, but sensed that this was not anger or grief, but frustration.

"Ainurél..." He spoke softly, caressing her back soothingly. He felt almost as though some other force controlled him, showing him the ways of tenderness he had not known often enough."My wife... What troubles you?" 

"It's... It's hot..." Ainurél tried to steady her breathing, but could not. "I can't do this." She shuffled miserably, burning her face into the silken grey folds of his robe. "Silwë..."

"Shh." Silwë stroked her hair gently, actions guided by some deep protective instinct. "You have done... You have done everything, my dear."

Ainurél sniffled again, and turned upon her back, looking up at him. Her green eyes met his silver ones and he touched her cheek. "I would not let the mother of my child suffer," he whispered. "I have tried to be the husband you deserve, and I know I have failed in so many ways... But you have been at my side, always. Please..." His voice caught. "I... I wish..."

"Oh..." She stifled a sob, and sat up as best she could. "Do not trouble yourself. You..." 

"I will manage," he whispered, and took her into his arms, her head against his chest. "You... Both of you..."

Ainurél pressed her face to her husband's chest. "I feel so burdened, Silwë. The smallest things... I did not know... I did not know it would be this way. Another two months? More?" She made a miserable mewling sound and clutched at his robe.  

"You must rest. You have done more than enough."  She felt, through the layers of his clothing, his heartbeat. They kept separate quarters, not for any estrangement but because Silwë slept far more rarely than did his wife, and he wished not to trouble her with his restlessness, nor his nightmares. It was rare that they lay together like this. He whispered to her, "Stay. Please."

She shifted, attempting to rest comfortably. Heavily pregnant, she felt as though she no longer knew her own body, but he made her comfortable as best he could. A sudden jolt startled him. The child had moved in Ainurél's stomach. Gasping in astonishment, Silwë touched his wife's stomach, almost hesitantly. She placed a hand over his. Another movement.

"The child..." He wondered aloud. 

"Mhm," Ainurél laughed, quietly. "Your child is as you are; late nights. She greets you."

"She?" He asked. "Are you sure?"

"No... Not entirely. But... I feel it."

With one hand upon Ainurél's stomach, Silwë used the other to stroke her back as she drifted to sleep, head nestled in the hollow where his shoulder and neck met. He felt, from time to time, his firstborn's movements.

A miracle, he thought. He put his head against his wife's.

_Perhaps,_ he thought, _Our child will teach me. Perhaps I can learn to feel these things._


	8. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The remaining Sons of Fëanor bring destruction to the Havens of Sirion, and a daring escape is launched, by those willing to risk a night crossing of the Bay of Balar.

The attack came quickly, blindsiding the still-traumatized population; those who had so recently survived the destruction of Gondolin and Doriath. For a time it was chaos and devastation; many were lost and many scattered. A storm was coming, the air felt thick and damp, yet no wind blew and no rain fell, as of yet.

Ainurél could not flee far by foot, too heavily was she with child; Silwë remained at her side. Those who now invaded the city had once been her husband's kinsmen; though they owed no compassion him, those two who found their former commander were unwilling to do any harm to Ainurél on principle, nor to take from the young elleth her child's father. 

The taller of the two Noldorin soldiers pulled Silwë aside, speaking in hushed Quenya in the courtyard. 

"We thought you dead when you were taken to Menegroth, Cáno, and we fled." His voice betrayed weariness, both of current physical state and of spirit. "Ill fate, we learned you had escaped to Gondolin, injured, some many months later. I will not make your wife a widow. We know of a small group who seeks to flee by ship. Take her, and go. I will tell the others we were misinformed, or have stopped their plan. Go."

"Ríldir, you owe me no debt." Silwë put his hand on the soldier's shoulder. "But know that I consider the one you have upon your shoulders as paid."

He nodded. "Go." The soldiers disappeared. 

Silwë closed the door, and hurried back into his home. He undressed quickly, tossing aside the robes he wore with an uncharacteristic lack of care, and slipped on black, leather breeches. From an ancient chest, he removed a knee-long tunic of carmine red silk, and pulled it over his head. As he shook his hair back over his shoulder, he turned, and the embroidery over his chest caught the firelight; the Star of Fëanor briefly lit red upon a red field. He wore over it the breastplate he had worn so long ago as he left Valinor; he had thought it lost, but one of his company had saved it, and it was reunited with him in Gondolin years later. The Star of Fëanor set upon the chest too caught the light.

Ainúrel saw this and bit her lip, saying nothing. She knew her husband's past, but all too well recognized this attire; others of those who wore it had brought destruction and death to her people in Doriath, and to her ancestors upon the shores of the Undying Lands, her husband had brought the same. It was real, now, this side of the sad, quiet craftsman she had married. 

"I can walk." She stood, somewhat laboriously. "I will have to. Our child needs us. Both of us."

"We will go by boat," he said, and took her hand. "We will be safe upon the island." 

Helping her into her clothing, he worried. Worry was no stranger to all who would become fathers, but now he felt for the first time that fierce and undeniable instinct to protect his mate and his unborn child that burned hotter than any other urge he'd felt in his long life. He gathered their few belongings - clothing, mostly, which was placed into the chest that held his most priceless and irreplaceable jewel crafting materials and locked tight.

They made their way into the darkness, and those few who saw them turned away in fear, thinking he was the enemy. The din grew quiet as they made their way along the empty beach to a hidden cove, where a few dozen people had gathered and made ready to sail a few boats to the Isle of Balar. A mix of worried, semi-hushed voices conversed in Sindarin, it would appear there were few of the survivors of Gondolin among those who meant to flee this night.

One approached, sword drawn, when he saw what seemed to be one of the Fëanorean host approach. "You are foolish to come alone, kin-slayer."

"I do not come alone; I come with my wife. You may threaten me more at your will, but she is with child and I would have her rest. I am no invader, but if you harm my wife I will kill you where you stand." Silwë stepped closer, and the tall, Doriathian elf who held the saw that he recognized this Noldo. "Ah, a disguise. You're crafty, Silwë. I'd have killed you."

"You wouldn't have stood a chance." Silwë helped Ainurél to sit upon a grassy area. One of her friends was among the gathered refugees, and joined her.

He took from his neck a necklace he wore, a pendant; it was a white pebble, simply set in mithril, that he had taken with him into Beleriand an age ago. He had impulsively picked it up from the shore as he left Valinor, its smooth shape and even color appealed to him, and some kind of superstitious urge told him it was good luck. Perhaps not, as it had been witness to much violence and hardship, but perhaps so. It was all he had of his home.

He later set it, during a period of peace. He wove about it his sorcery, over many years, layers of protection and imperviousness. It was drenched in his own spirit, in this way. It was a part of him, as surely as his own flesh. He put it around Ainurél's neck, where it seemed to glow faintly, as they sat upon the deck of a small, swift boat, upon the open, dark sea.

"Silwë..." Ainurél touched the pendant. "Your necklace."

"Forgive my superstitious indulgence, my wife. I worry..." He put his hand over hers. "Please wear it, for now. For... Luck."

"Then you will have this." She took from around her own neck a chain that bore the ring he had given to her when they wed; in her late pregnancy she had become unable to wear it. "For luck." She placed it around his neck. It seemed a fair trade.

The wind had picked up, and Silwë buried his face in Ainurél's hair. He loathed travel by sea, for at first it called to mind his blood-soaked and triumphant flight to Beleriand with an odd kind of nostalgic pain; then, a cold, growing panic he breathed through — he did not know how to swim, and the black nothingness of the increasingly choppy seas felt violently close.

He put his arms close about his wife, and tried to tell himself to be calm, for her. For their child.

 


	9. The Edge of the Deep Green Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escape proves more difficult than once imagined, and nothing turns out according to plan.

Rain lashed against the small craft that sought freedom upon the Isle of Balar, and the wind howled as though it lived.

It seemed as though the storm would never cease; they had lost sight of the other boats, and the Bay of Balar had turned violent. A great and terrible shrieking, cracking, groaning noise was deafening even above the wind as the mast cracked and fell, gouging with it a gap in the side of the craft, and sweeping a few people into the sea.

There was commotion, as most of these travelers were not sailors, none knew what to do in such a situation. The pilot and his navigator set to lowering a raft; still, few of the younger took buoyant materials and set to swim, assuring that those who could not would be cared for. 

As gently as he could, in the churning of the storm, Silwë helped his wife descend to the raft, and followed, the last of those left aboard, the ship pitched a final time and before it began to sink, threw him headlong into the waves alongside the raft. He felt the cold water close above his head, and panicked. In his thrashing, improbably, he managed to catch his arm over a chest that had floated free and pulled his body over it. 

"Silwë!" He heard Ainurél's cries.

"I am here!" Coughing, he had a moment of gratefulness that he was slight of build, this chest was heavy and any greater weight may have put it under. "I am..." 

A horrendous splash cut him off as a section of the ship shot back to the surface, dashing the raft apart, scattering its passengers into the water. He saw her, arm looped over a piece of floating debris. He heard a panicked cry, one last time.

"Silwë?!"

Then, a wave overtook him and drove him into the water. The rest of it was a blur of choking and resurfacing, and then, after a while, silence. Consciousness came and went as the sun broke a sickly grey through the clouds, and he found himself, after some time, laying upon the beach, though he knew not where. 

The enormity of what had come to pass was crushing. They were gone; his wife, the child he would never know. The walls he had built within himself were sufficient to stave off madness, the pain simply disappearing into the deep well where his emotions dwelt. He felt tears fall, however, and then felt a howl of anguish, one sole outpouring of grief and rage. Hoping that Ulmo had been merciful, Silwë dipped his hand into the clear, calm seawater and rinsed his tears away; as he scattered the water back into the sea, he silently asked the Vala who dwelt in the depths to tell her her of his survival, as he bore her to Mandos.

Exhausted, he started to lean back against the chest to which he had clung for life, but stopped to examine it. By some twist of fate, this was his own; that which he had so vainly carried with him rather than leaving it behind. He laughed, bitterly. His jewels, the breastplate he had worn to war, and the tools of his craft; seemingly, they were bound to him, but he could not save his wife and their unborn child. Curling next to the chest, he slept a dark, dreamless sleep. 

Voices called to him in Sindarin, and elves appeared. He shook the fog of sleep from his mind and beheld several curious and concerned onlookers, dressed in the shades of the forest. The Laiquendi had found him. At first, highly suspicious due to his Fëanorean armor, they were skeptical, but he explained, between sips of wine and water, what had happened; the attack, the disguise (...of sorts), the flight to sea, the loss of his wife. 

"I am Lindaer, Sage of Taur-na-Fuin, son of Aeglaer," the functional leader of the company said, judging him acceptable. "How shall we know you, friend?"

"My name..." He thought, for a moment. And at that moment, with the memory of his life that was almost to be, of the violence and war, and of Valinor, Silwë buried his true name deeply.

He breathed, and started again.

"I am called... Illuvarion." He liked the sound of it, as it came to him. "A jewel-smith of Gondolin." 

"We welcome you, and grieve your loss, Illuvarion Mírdan (he liked this; Mírdan meant "jewel-smith". He would keep it.). Our people are a private kind, but would not leave a grieving husband and father to mourn his family alone on this wild shore, so soon after losing a homeland. You will be welcome, here. Perhaps you will find peace in your craft; Illuvarion. Your fate is strange indeed." 

"It is," Illuvarion said. "I seek my home of old, near to the source of the River Ascar. I thank you for your company through the woodland."

The days slipped by, as they passed through the forest and into Ossiriand, and with too did the memory of Silwë Rúsenär, Warlord of the Noldor, into the realm of legend. In his place, the quiet and serious, slightly haunted craftsman who had been pulled from the sea. He was called, from that time forward, Illuvarion Mírdan of Gondolin. 

He traveled North along the river Gelion, to seek the lodge, and its forge, which he left next to the pool before the Dagor Bragollach. Surely, it was ruined. But he arrived to see that there, worn by a century of disuse but still standing, was his small dwelling. He swept it out, burnt the old scrolls and the rotted linens, and began to build a small home of sorts. 

Fifty years, alone with his grief; somehow, he buried it with his name, and went on. He lived there, and hid, until the Valar broke the world and banished Morgoth. Until the Second Age dawned, and all that remained of Beleriand was the small area around him, now a peninsula. Rather than north of a river, far in the mountains, he dwelt to the north of the Gulf of Lhûn, near to the foothills, and this land was now known as Forlindon.

Illuvarion grew used to the solitude again, too easily; his marriage lasted but two years, but a moment in a life as long as his. 

With his craft and his sorcery to distract him, time began to pass.

Silwë was no more.

Illuvarion remained.


	10. Oropher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illuvarion catches a strange Doriathian visitor in the act of breaking and entering, and once he realizes that he's not stealing anything, he invites him to stay for drinks, then gets invited to go on an adventure.

Illuvarion had been living in what now was the peninsula known as Forlindon for fifty years or so, a quiet life in a cabin he'd built nearly two hundred years prior. He had been away for the morning, a day trip on horseback to the nearest small settlement to procure some provisions - wine, mostly. It was after dark, and he looked forward to wine, and rest.

He came back to the secluded clearing to find a huge white war horse grazing near his forge, and the door to his home open. His guard went up, and he strode to the door, ready to frighten someone or fight, if need be. His left hand went to the hilt of his sword as he entered. 

There, in his small study area, a very tall and muscular unfamiliar elf stood barefoot, leafing through a book of sigils, long silvery hair glimmering in the lantern light. He showed no sign of making an attempt to read it.

"Can I help you?" He was cross, but not too so, for he was glad to find not bandits but another elf, uninvited as he may be. "Who are you, and what business do you have in my workshop?"

"Is that what this is? It looks like some type of sorcerer’s lair, to me." The elf gestured around him, and was correct in this assessment. He was surrounded by many odd relics and tomes, all kinds of jewel-crafting tools and many braziers, some for light and some for ritual. 

"It **is** a sorcerer’s lair.” He regarded his guest with slight amusement as he poured wine into a cup, and offered it to his uninvited guest. “Hm. Doriathian, I would guess, based upon your accent. Well, I suppose that you are here, and may as well stay. Tell me, do you have a name?” 

“Of course I do.” He took the wine and gulped it down, showing no semblance of having ever been taught manners, a contrast to the way in which he dressed. “I'm Oropher, Warlord of Thingol's court.” 

“I am called Illuvarion.” A Sindarin name seemed odd for a Noldorin elf, and he pronounced it with the same accent he pronounced the Sindarin he spoke, one that plainly showed that it was a relatively newly acquired language, and that his native one was Quenya. Surprisingly quickly, he finished the cup of wine, and refilled it. It seemed that perhaps he spent as much time drinking as he did doing sorcery.

He poured another cup of wine, for himself, and touched a lit reed to his numerous braziers and candles, lighting the room better. He flicked his wrist at the fireplace and whispered some unintelligible words to himself in Quenya, and the wood arranged therein sprang to full flame. Oropher gasped briefly at this wanton sorcery, but did not say anything.

Illuvarion examined his guest more closely in the better light. He was unusual looking; deep-set green eyes under dark eyebrows that contrasted to his silver-white hair, unusually pale of complexion. His features were strong, enough as to be almost severe-looking; in fact, everything about him was strong, in its way. He was unusually tall, as Illuvarion was; easily over seven and a half feet in height. The Sinda was also broad of chest and shoulders, his frame heavily muscular. He wore a black tunic and emerald green robe, both embroidered finely with a motif of leaves and vines, rendered oddly less formal by the fact that he was completely barefoot. Illuvarion found him to be, despite a decidedly fearsome appearance, rather handsome.

His staring could be forgiven, for the Sindarin elf-lord took the same opportunity to size up his host. Illuvarion wore layered, formal robes of black silk that swept the floor, rendering his slender form shadowy in appearance. Black hair was swept back from his face and held decoratively by jeweled hair pins in the shape of stars, and up the side of each ear were a half-dozen delicate earrings. He certainly did not dress as though he was some kind of hermit, but he definitely dressed as though he was a sorcerer.

“Why are you here?” Illuvarion did not seem to be unfriendly.

“I’m looking for elves. How would you like to come with my people, Noldo? We’re going over the mountains. Gil-Galad doesn't know shit. He wouldn't even grace my warriors with entry to Lindon, would you believe it? That's why we're here. We're going to make a better life somewhere else.” Oropher seemed excitable, and not very selective. Illuvarion assumed, probably correctly, that he was rounding up whoever seemed interested — in pioneering ventures, strength was in numbers, and somewhat in diversity.

"Mh." Oropher nibbled on his bottom lip, a sign of being somewhat comfortable with his surroundings. He did not hold himself as stiffly as he did when at court or before large groups of Noldor. Truth be told, he often itched to kill them.

"You are certainly fearless." Illuvarion half-smiled, a mixture of amusement and appreciation. It was endearing, but gone quickly as the rather serious Noldorin elf caught himself doing it. He didn't loathe this stranger's presence, which was odd. He disliked visitors, for the most part. "Tell me, Oropher, what are your plans, that would send you out into the woods to invite strangers on an adventure?" 

"We are going to establish a kingdom in the Greenwood. Most of us are warriors and hunters. We have no, uh..." he gestured in a circle. "Magically adept folk who play with gems and books and fire."

"You have found one." Not entirely disinterested, Illuvarion finished his wine in a surprisingly quick manner, and filled his cup again. “I am not surprised that you lack patience for our young king. I have little, myself.” Ereinion Gil-Galad, the High King of the Noldor, was barely an adult, at least by his own measure. “He is too young. Not yet even two hundred years of age.”

Oropher nodded, interested to see that this particular Noldo was somewhat divorced from Noldorin politics. He shifted, tossing a long section of silvery white hair back over his shoulder, and sat at the table. Illuvarion refilled both cups, and brought the large jug of wine to the table with him.

“I will join you.” Illuvarion shrugged casually, as though he were had been invited to dinner, rather than to travel into the unknown with a band of strangers. “I see no reason not to.” 

“Good. Pack what you can carry. We’re on a tight schedule.” Hopping up, Oropher bounded to the door, opening it to find nothing but silent, spooky darkness.

“It is late, and the path is hard to find.” Illuvarion had shockingly quickly managed to pack a leather bag with folded clothing — robes of silk, linen, wool and cotton, mostly, but also wraps and cloaks and other necessities. This he set by the door, and atop it, the set the trunk containing his jewel-crafting tools (and, for travel, his jewelry as well), worn by age and stained by seawater. “You may stay, if  you wish.”

“…stay? Are you sure?” Oropher knew that the Noldor were rather odd about their sense of formality, and privacy. Whereas it was not uncommon for the Sindarin elves to sleep and live in a more communal manner, he wondered if perhaps this would make Illuvarion uncomfortable. He didn’t wish to impose. 

“It is no trouble.” Illuvarion turned for a moment to tend the fire.

“You seem like you could use the company.” Oropher easily let his outer robes slip to the floor, and with a shrug, sat shirtless in his dark grey breeches on Illuvarion’s bed, where he intended to sleep. The cushions were soft silk, as were the sheets. Feeling the tips of his ears redden, Illuvarion wondered whether his deeply hidden loneliness was more obvious than he had assumed.

“Perhaps so.” He turned away again, and unfastened the jeweled pins that held his hair. It fell loosely about his waist, heavy and black as ink, much longer than it appeared. Oropher stared at him, mesmerized, as Illuvarion ran his hands through the length of it with a nearly inaudible sigh of relaxation. His ears reddened further as he felt eyes on him. “…why are you staring at me?”

“Because you look nice.” Oropher lay on his side, still staring.

Illuvarion had no idea how to respond to this. "...do I?"

Smiling the broad smile of a fearless elf, Oropher responded. "Of course you do!"

Shedding the top layers of what had seemed to be many countless layers of clothing, Illuvarion sat on the bed, dressed in a loose, long tunic of black silk, embroidered at the neck and sleeves with silver and grey stars. "It is unusual for people to regard me in such a way." He said, simply. "Or to regard me at all, for that matter. Few spend enough time in my presence to form an opinion." ”

"I can tell. You look lonely." Oropher said matter-of-factly, propping himself up on one elbow. Laying a bit sideways, he ran his thick fingers through Illuvarion's unbound hair. "Ooh... it's soft..." 

Illuvarion froze for a moment, shocked at being touched. He did not look displeased, simply surprised. He did his best to not recoil out of habit. "I... Suppose so." He blinked.

The Sinda, however, felt this to be a natural behavior, a friendly gesture, and continued petting him. The Sindarin elves, and particularly those who had spent time among their Silvan neighbors in parts of Beleriand, were far more open with physical affection between friends than were the Noldor. Illuvarion found it, after his initial shock, rather soothing.

“If you say so…” Illuvarion murmured almost to himself, drifting off.

Oropher, pleased, put his arm fondly over his new friend and fell asleep that way, face pressed against glossy black hair that smelt of incense and woodsmoke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most Oropher's dialogue and actions written by Doitsuki here on AO3 XD


	11. To The Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest: Illuvarion and Oropher are not the most socially or emotionally adept people to ever walk the lands East of the Great Sea. But they manage to get out of bed and find Oropher's company of assorted elves, then set out for the unknown.

The morning found Illuvarion fast asleep, breathing gently, draped over Oropher's larger form, head nestled against his neck. It was already several hours past dawn. Oropher woke slowly, senses coming to him and a natural sense of comfort hanging over his body. He realized that there was someone on him; he grunted. 

It did not wake Illuvarion, for he slept deeply when he slept, though he murmured quietly and nestled himself more comfortably. Oropher knew the time from the light outside, and worried that his people would be getting antsy; in a voice slightly slurred by sleep he muttered “Illuvarion.” 

This did wake him, and he looked shocked; both at being awakened suddenly and at being draped over a shirtless Sindarin elf-lord. “I… I am sorry. I did not realize…” He sat up, tousled black hair cascading down his chest and about his face, still sleepy looking, blushing. “I am not used to sharing bed space…”

Slowly, Oropher tilted his head to the side, long silvery-white hair falling to pool just about everywhere. “It’s no trouble…” His head fell forward to rest on Illuvarion’s shoulder. 

“Indeed…” Illuvarion looked about, absently running a hand through Oropher’s hair. He enjoyed the way it felt, silky and fine. “I… I suppose I would dislike to keep your people waiting…” He seemed to be waiting to be told what he was supposed to do, outside of sitting in Oropher’s lap in his sleepwear. Oropher nodded, but made no moves to cast the Noldo out of his lap. He sat there, dazed. 

“Are you well?” Illuvarion seemed concerned, but also made no move. “Have I done something?”

“Hm? No, yes. Fine.” Oropher still remained still, with Illuvarion in his lap. Slowly a blush crept up to color his pale cheeks, and he signed.

“Yes… Fine.” Illuvarion echoed, feeling his own face and ears pinken slightly. 

Finally, Oropher stood, picking Illuvarion up with him. He set the slight elf down upon the bed, and gathered his robes, putting them on; he gestured to the door, and picked up the small pile of Illuvarion’s personal effects.

“Get the rest, if there is any. I’ll be waiting.”

Everything came into focus, and Illuvarion collected himself. "Ahem... Yes. I will ready what little I intend to bring." He looked away, ears burning. He slipped back into the robes he had worn the night before, and swept back his hair again, braiding it quickly and twisting the braids together, then pinning it in place. He had gathered what little he needed, and quickly looked about for anything else of import; the last-minute items he put into the black, embossed leather satchel he carried at his left hip, and wore his sword at his right. 

Then, casting any unneeded but possibly sensitive scrolls into the fireplace, he set them ablaze, and left the key in the door. He had built this place well; and hoped that it would serve someone well who happened to find it and its odd contents of dusty old tomes and scrolls and maps, charts of elven lineage and perhaps some valuable artifacts of Gondolin and Doriath. 

And then, with little hesitation, he left.

Oropher waited, as he said, astride the massive white war-horse that had grazed next to the forge; Illuvarion whistled for Vanya, who came from the woods. An equally large black horse with different-coloured eyes, one green and one blue, capable of carrying the necessary and also a rider well over seven feet tall.  

They rode a time in silence, though not an uncomfortable one, through the wooded land that edged the Ered Luin and was all that remained of Beleriand. 

Oropher took note of the wedding ring Illuvarion wore on a chain about his neck, and tilted his head. “You’re married?" It seemed strange. 

“I was.” Illuvarion’s voice was matter-of-fact, unemotional. “She is gone.”

“We all lost people. The wars?”

“No.” Illuvarion sighed, a flutter of sadness coloring his speech. “We sought to escape the destruction at the havens by ship, and the vessel sank in the storm. I found myself washed ashore, but the sea took my wife, and the child she carried.” He looked away. “Our first. It would have been any day, had she lived.”

“I’m sorry.” Oropher did not know what to say to this.

“Do not be.” Illuvarion looked ahead again, and tucked the necklace into his robe. “I have come to realize that in the barely two years we had together, she healed many wounds I thought to be permanent. I wish only that I had been able to tell her this.” 

He looked ahead then, and said no more. They rode on to a small clearing, where a surprisingly large group of elves lounged about, their horses and belongings unharmed. Oropher was glad to see that in his absence, nothing terrible had happened. The elves seemed quizzical upon seeing the elf who accompanied their leader, severely dressed in formal black robes and riding a great black horse, but there was no hostility to be sensed openly.

“Mellyn!” Oropher called out, addressing everyone as his friend. “I found the sorcerer! We’re ready to go.” 

Nodding, the elves gave some cursory smiles to Illuvarion and set about sadling their mounts. The Sindar numbered close to two dozen, many clad in ancient-looking Doriathian armor; there were many Silvan elves as well, and three well-dressed Telerin lords of Doriath who kept to themselves. Two young elf-maidens — sisters, by the look of it — served to represent the Laiquendi, and Illuvarion, now, apparently would represent the Noldor. 

By dusk, the preparations were complete, and as the first hint of the coming dawn coloured the sky in hues of lavender and pink, they rode east, toward the sun and the unknown.

Illuvarion, quiet with thought, laughed to himself that he should begin this age as he did the last; eastward into the unknown, awaiting dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of Oropher's action and dialogue written by Doitsuki here on AO3 !


	12. Night Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first major stretch of the journey behind them, it's time to party in what will someday be Eregion, before crossing the mountains.

Uneventfully, but with appropriate amounts of building anticipation, the band of elves traveled eastward. A fortnight passed and they found themselves upon the high plain at the foot of a high plain, uninhabited but for the well-built roads that indicated that dwarves dwelt in the mountains nearby. A land of grey stone, wild grass and holly trees, it was decided that this would be a suitable place to rest for a while, for it was still midsummer and crossing the mountains would remain possible. 

The pass was high and steep, treacherous even in summer, and the thought of hauling such heavy goods as casks of wine seemed irresponsible. As such, it was decided that this was an excellent time for a raucous party. 

Illuvarion sat near the fire, wine in hand, listening to one of the Telerin elves go on with a rather surprisingly raunchy story of sea travel and romance. He had been pleasantly surprised to be accepted as he was within the group, which is to say that he had not been cast out nor had he been the target of any hostility.  For now, he thought, the group was bound by the common goal of pioneering.

The stars felt as though they hung lower than usual, and a nearly full moon cast a bright, glowing light across the peaks of the Misty Mountains and across the plains of scrub grass and holly. Oropher sat in the moonlight, bathing in it, wearing only his leggings. He leaned heavily on a half empty cask of wine, and stared off into the stars, distracted.

Having come to refill his cup, Illuvarion noticed their fearless, shirtless leader’s distraction. “It is a beautiful night,” he said, leaning against the cask next to Oropher and gazing up at the stars he so loved. “Such stars…” 

“Mhm. Varda’s work shines on a night like this.” Oropher murmured, and glanced to Illuvarion, eyes lingering on him. “As do you.”

Illuvarion flushed deeply, glad for the cover of night. He was unsure of what tos ay to this, and brushed from his face a few strands of hair that had come loose. He had, under the moon, a luminous glow of sorts, a veil of otherworldliness that seemed to have followed him out of the Undying Lands, clinging to him. He made a quiet appreciative noise, and looked away, drinking deeply from the cup he held. He shifted his weight in an endearingly shy way.

As he smiled and attempted to scoot closer to Illuvarion, Oropher was tipsy enough to miscalculate where he placed his hand on the ground. Instead of supporting his own weight, his hand touched something soft and he collapsed into Illuvarion's lap.

Illuvarion laughed quietly and looked down at Oropher, who looked as though he did not mind being there, his hair shimmering silver against Illuvarion's black robes. "The stars are special to me," he said, but did not elaborate. "Ai, such hair you have, like mithril." He was plenty far into the wine, himself, and ran a hand through Oropher's hair. It was soft, and fine, and it ran through his fingers like water. 

Having spent the last few weeks becoming rather well acquainted with Oropher, Illuvarion  did not feel entirely awkward petting his hair. He murmured some things to himself in Quenya as he looked up at the sky, as Oropher began to doze off in his lap. Nobody seemed to judge him for it, though the rest of his people found his fondness of Illuvarion a little strange. Oropher was well known to hate the Noldor with an all-consuming passion.

Illuvarion found it a bit odd, himself, if he were to be honest. People tended to find him difficult. But, set back a way from the more rowdy part of the group and pleasantly full of wine, he made a quiet, contented noise as he noticed Oropher grow sleepy. He was rather lost in thought, and ran his hand through Oropher's hair again, slender fingers brushing the side of his ear.

At this, Oropher groaned, the sound long and deep, almost a whine. He turned his head slightly, and Illuvarion quickly drew back his hand, concern upon his face. Illuvarion did not understand that this was a sound of pleasure, not pain or annoyance.

“Did I hurt you?” Illuvarion felt terrible, he had not meant any harm.

Chuckling, Oropher slurred his words a bit. “You cannot hurt me.” Then, he fell silent and only stilled once he’d buried his face in Illuvarion’s lap, feeling warm and comfortable, his cheek pressed against Illuvarion’s thigh. "Mmmh."

Illuvarion blushed and unconsciously dug his fingers into the bare flesh of his friend’s shoulder. He felt warm skin against his mid-thigh through the summer-weight black silk cloth of the robe he wore. “Nhh… You are warm.” He shivered suddenly, though the night was not cold, nor even cool.

“You too.” Oropher muttered almost to himself, but Illuvarion felt his breath and his lips move against the smooth flesh of his leg. The thick muscle long since hardened to pain, he barely felt Illuvarion’s nails on his shoulder. 

Certainly, he felt warmer now than a moment ago, wine and some strange mix of feelings flushed hot across Illuvarion’s face and chest. “What…” His voice felt odd, matching that strange and foreign emotion that crept through him, akin to the feeling one has in a dream when one is falling.

Instead of the mere tipsiness of his former stoic, still position, Oropher was far more loaded than Illuvarion had previously assessed, and drooled slightly as he nibbled at the Noldo’s thigh through the thin fabric. 

“Oropher…” he whispered, amusement mixed with shyness. “That… That is my thigh…”

"You're a thigh." Oropher grunted, biting Illuvarion.

Illuvarion yelped, caught entirely off guard by this, and his sharp nails pierced the flesh, sharply enough to startle even the well-desensitized Sinda. Oropher yelped too and shot right up, his immediate reaction to any sort of shocking sensation. He managed to headbutt Illuvarion's chest in the process and floundered around. 

Knocked askew, and off balance, Illuvarion fell back on the ground, groaning. "Ai..." He closed his eyes briefly, noting that he was not harmed. The breath was knocked out of him, a bit. "I'm... Sorry. Unh. Damn, Oropher."

He opened his eyes again, looking up.

Oropher did a half push-up and hovered over Illuvarion, looking at him. Then he pressed his face against Illuvarion's chest and closed his eyes, breathing out a huffed sigh. 

"Ooh." Illuvarion put his hand over Oropher's back, squeezing him gently. "I... Did not mean to startle you. It... Just..." He did not know what he meant to say, and trailed off, leaving his hand where it was. He almost hesitantly ran the other through Oropher's hair again, feeling very fond.

Pressing himself close, Oropher decided that perhaps it was a good time, and place, to sleep. Fine with this, Illuvarion listened to him breathe quietly as he tried to calm the odd dizzying feeling in his stomach and chest. Too much wine, perhaps, or... he did not realize he had fallen asleep until he awoke several hours later, past midnight. 

He was alone, and he blinked a few times, then set out to look for his wayward friend.


	13. Under the Moon and Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oropher shares a vision, and Illuvarion confesses a secret. 
> 
> Everything suddenly changes in an instant, with a simple gesture.
> 
> ...and then?

His search was not long; for Oropher had not gone far. Illuvarion found him sitting atop a small hill nearby, basking again in the moonlight and staring distracted into the stars, still shirtless and looking a bit more sober.

“Ai, Oropher, you disappeared…” Illuvarion sat next to him. “Are you well?”

Serene, with hair falling like water behind him, Oropher turned, lit in profile by the moon. “Yes…” Oropher blinked a few times, and wrapped an arm around Illuvarion’s waist. “You do not sleep much, do you?”

“I do not require much sleep. Though I do enjoy sleeping long hours when I can.” Illuvarion admired this moon-lit view and found himself admiringly gazing at Oropher for a moment, and then leaning his head against his shoulder. “You are unusually distracted, tonight. Does something trouble you?” 

"I had a vision." Oropher admitted bluntly, staring into the distance. His dark green eyes were a little glazed over. Oropher was silent for about five minutes, and Illuvarion, though the realm of dreams and visions and foretelling was one Illuvarion was acquainted with, he did not pry; he knew that Oropher would tell in his own time and way, as was the way with those who had seen things. 

"I saw a child with hair similar to my own, drowning in a thousand tiny Silvan bodies... and he spoke in Quenya words I did not understand."

Illuvarion was puzzled by this. An interesting thing to see, indeed, and vaguely troubling. He ran his hand up Oropher’s bare back, and said nothing. Tracing the outline of the Sinda’s spine, feeling scarred skin beneath his fingers, he ran his hand back down to his waist. Oropher focused on that sensation instead of his worrying thoughts. 

"I do not know what this could mean." Illuvarion said, "Dreams and visions are rarely straightforward..."

Oropher whined quietly and his arm around Illuvarion tightened. The Noldo made a quiet, low sound, and pressed his face against Oropher's neck. He had little idea now what was correct to do, and, uncharacteristically, let impulse guide him. His breath was gentle and warm against the skin there as he gave Oropher a gentle hug.

Illuvarion felt a sigh escape him, and shivered. He was suddenly very aware of how close they were, and it made him feel very strange. Oropher didn't seem to mind, cool as a cucumber and still somewhat lost in thought.

"What else troubles you?" Illuvarion had not seen the Sinda this thoughtful. "Have I done something...?"

"No..." Oropher shook his head. "Don't worry. You aren't my royal advisor just yet."

Illuvarion chuckled to himself quietly, and mused _"Advisor Silwë"_ to himself; not realizing he had said this aloud, though under his breath.

"What's a Silwë?" Oropher blinked a few times, the Quenya feeling strange in his mouth.

"No. I... Nothing. It is..." He looked away. "I misspoke." 

"I won't kill you for speaking the forbidden tongue, you know." Oropher blinked again.

Illuvarion felt his ears burn, and that peculiar falling feeling again. "It is..." He whispered, almost inaudible. "It is my true name. Silwë." It felt natural somehow to tell Oropher this secret. "Few know it, if they still live. And now you know. Names are… Important, to the Noldor. I share this because I care for you, and..." 

Oropher squinted into the darkness. Then he turned his head.

"Silwë… Rúsënar, Commander of the Siege against Angband...?" He'd heard that name before, attached to title and deed. “The Noldo warlord.” 

"Oh..." Illuvarion paled, and felt faint, but steeled himself. He would not lie, he had shared this with Oropher because he was close to him. “I was known that way, yes. I am he, or was.”

Surprisingly, Oropher whistled. “Impressive.”

Illuvarion had expected violence, and shrank instinctively; he now looked at Oropher with a surprised, unsure, vulnerable look as he slowly turned, staring. “You…”

Oropher looked at him. "What? I killed orcs too, you know." He then gave Illuvarion a slight tug on the ear. "And plenty of Noldor." 

Still, then suddenly driven to throw his arms around Oropher's neck, Illuvarion buried his face, burning with a mix of feelings, in white hair and against warm skin with a soft cry. Certainly not the most badass warrior reaction, but it was raw, and honest.

“Shit, uh…” Oropher gasped, thinking it was a cry of grief for lost loved ones. He froze. 

When Illuvarion pulled away, he saw what was written plain across Oropher’s face, and tried to reassure him. “No, I am… I am not upset by your words. I am relieved.” He looked down, unsure what to say next. “I… feared…”  _I feared you would leave me alone,_ he thought.

“Glad to see you’re not out for vengeance, then.” Oropher didn’t really understand what Illuvarion meant, but laughed anyway.

“I am not.” Illuvarion sighed. “I have no vengeance to seek, nor any reason to seek it. I am old and tired. I seek only peace.” He touched the side of Oropher’s face. “You… have brought me some.”

“Ooh…” Endeared, Oropher licked Illuvarion’s hand, gently. “I’m glad.” 

“As am I.” Illuvarion made a soft sound, almost luminous. A few moments passed, and again, he looked at his companion. “Truly, I am.” 

He took the Sinda’s face in his hands, hesitantly, then touched his forehead gently to Oropher’s; it seemed the right thing, and he did not know what else to do.

Oropher felt a very, very deep sense of warmth as Illuvarion instinctively made the most intimate gesture anyone could do to a Sinda. He murmured something incoherently and then tilted his head to the side. He kissed Illuvarion, as gently as he could. 

Stopped mid-breath, momentarily, and flooded with the same warmth, Illuvarion managed only a soft whisper. "Oropher...” He had not expected this, at all, but suddenly he understood.

He returned a gentle kiss, hands and body trembling as though it was the first time he'd ever done so.

Oropher spent a while then licking and tasting Illuvarion, who sat straddling his lap, still trembling slightly. Illuvarion made appreciative, quiet sounds, and felt his hair fall loose about his body as Oropher managed to unbind it, seeming almost desperate to do so; the Sinda quietly moaned, deeply, as he ran his hands through the shadowy length of it. He trailed soft kisses down the side of Oropher's graceful, pointed ear in return, purring to him.

“That feels good…” Powerful hands came to rest gently at Illuvarion’s waist, squeezing him gently; he felt their warmth through the silk of his robe, over the heavily scarred flesh there. He had once bidden even his wife not touch him there, but now he said nothing, instead breathing a soft sigh into Oropher’s ear, and licked the edge of it delicately.

“Oh?”

“Yes...” Oropher nibbled Illuvarion's skin, going from the side of his neck and then down, eliciting soft sighs of approval. Illuvarion's breath and lips against his ear was having a highly arousing effect, but he wasn’t quite sure if he was going to let himself do this. “Mmh.” 

Illuvarion, in truth, had no idea what, exactly, he was doing, nor what he hoped to achieve. He knew only that in this moment, under the moon and stars, slim body pressed against Oropher's larger one, he knew that this feeling was the way _this_ \- whatever _this_ was, what they were doing - was meant to feel. Content to quietly share kisses and murmurs of affection, with more tenderness than one would believe two former battle-hardened warlords to be capable, they were lost in each other.

"You really are one Noldo I don't want dead." muttered Oropher, as he held held Illuvarion close, lips tasting of rich wine. "So stay close, alright?"

"Yes..." Illuvarion kissed wine-scented lips, and buried his face into Oropher's moon-lit hair. "I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oropher provided by the inimitable Doitsuki! :O
> 
> ... and 13 chapters in, Orovarion.


	14. Inevitability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After entering Rhovanion, camp is made. Stargazing and story-telling leads to things becoming far more intense than before. This is all uncharted territory for Illuvarion, but Oropher is more than willing to help in any way he possibly can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even ancient elven warlords occasionally find themselves surprised by decidedly un-warlike feelings...
> 
>  
> 
> (...and finally earn that M rating, heh)

Illuvarion, having led his companies through the mountains to war at Angband, found himself more useful than he had thought, and plotted a route through the difficult pass below the mountain Caradhras. It was on the late side of summer, and the snows were still receded, which was lucky; any later and the small band of elves would have had to winter over in Eregion or seek to treat with the Dwarves of Khazad-Dûm, which he knew the Doriathian elves would find loathsome. So he led them into the mountains.

Though the path was both steep and narrow, it was navigable, and a thankfully painless journey led Oropher's followers down into a valley, where they made camp upon the shore of a wide, still lake, called in the Dwarf-tongue Kheled-zâram, by others Mirrormere. All were excited, but a decision was made to hold where they were, and rest a while before the final few hundred miles; both elves and horses could use a few days, perhaps a week, to recover their energy. The Laiquendi saw no harm in trade with the dwarves and procured great casks of wine and ale, and strange dwarven food they brought simply for the novelty, as well as instruments of dwarven make; they were fond of song and saw them as souvenirs.

Upon the new moon, soon after arriving, Illuvarion was struck with the realization that he had seen this place before; under the brighter light of both moon and day it seemed unremarkable, but by the light of the stars, he recognized it. The realization filled him with a sense of belonging on some level, deeper than he could easily explain.

A few nights later, once again by moonlight, Oropher found him sitting on the lake shore, rather far from camp. Dressed in gauzy, mist-grey robes, dark hair unbound and decorated with a circlet of stars and moonstone, Illuvarion was stargazing and speaking quietly to himself in Quenya.

He heard an approach, and turned to see the Sinda standing, shirtless and barefoot, wearing only grey leather breeches – as he seemed to prefer in this recent warm weather – about 10 meters away. Illuvarion was captivated for a while, looking at him; moonlight, however new and faint, agreed with Oropher, and his extravagant length of loose, silvery hair that brushed the back of his legs when he walked.

“Come, sit with me.” He beckoned. Oropher sat heavily beside him on the soft grass. Though the two had shared an unexpected night of quiet, tender kisses before they crossed into Rhovanion, they had scarcely had time to be alone since.

For a while there was quiet, and then Illuvarion rested his head on Oropher’s shoulder, making a quiet motion to sit closer to him. “I have seen this place before, and the woods we seek. I realized it shortly after we arrived, when the moon went away… I would like to tell you the story. I have never spoken it to anyone.”

Oropher gave a silent nod of agreement and ran his hand down Illuvarion's leg, absently petting him. “Whenever you are ready, I’ll listen.”  
“I traveled here with my people, from the shore of a Great Lake in the east. It is where Oromë found us, after we'd come to understand that we existed, and began to speak to each other.” He paused, and a slight smile could be heard in his voice. “I had told you, I am old… We held for a while at first in the great vast ancient woodland that is now known as the Greenwood; that is where some of the Teleri decided to stop and make their home. We continued on, stopped here with the remaining Telerin elves.”

“I did not know with certainty until the moon had waned, for when I traveled here there were only stars, still new in the sky. I loved them; it is why I was given the name I was. It means 'Star-light', in Quenya.”

Illuvarion paused, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious, unused to speaking of himself in any great detail. “We came to Beleriand, and some others of the Teleri left as well; the Sindar are their people. Yet more elected to remain on the shore. The Noldor crossed to Aman, and saw the Trees.”

"I... Came back... Under less fortunate circumstances. I am sure you can deduce the rest." He looked across the water, and laced his fingers into Oropher's.

Oropher was silent for a while. Then he spoke.

"Nice. I don't have any history that intriguing to speak of... thank you for telling me." He hugged Illuvarion tight. "You'll make an excellent navigator yet."

“I had worried you would become…” Illuvarion looked for the correct word, to express the concept of being spooked by either his age or history, or the reminder of what he’d done upon leaving Valinor.

Oropher waved his hand. “Don't worry about what I become. I'm me, and I'm fine with you.”

Illuvarion shook his head, the small beads in his hair making small noises against each other. "I am glad. I am fond of you."

Oropher blushed. "Oh, you. With that sort of talk I might be tempted to put you into service as my royal consort." He said this jokingly, but in his eyes was the usual serious look.

Illuvarion felt his ears burn a deep crimson, and saw the serious look. "I... Nh..." The usually well-spoken Noldo tripped on his words, and tried for the same levity, but sounded rather breathless. "Indeed?"

"Indeed." Oropher kissed Illuvarion's ear, drawing a quiet sigh of enjoyment, and snuggled up beside him. "You are warm and sweet, after all."

“Am I…” Illuvarion blushed at being complimented so. He brushed his cheek against Oropher’s, and kissed him gently. “You flatter me…”

”Mm, I could flatten you into the ground if I wished." Oropher growled, pressing his hand against Illuvarion's chest as he licked up the side of the Noldo's ear. “I could flatten you right into the grass and let the stars themselves witness one of their own, fallen." Oropher pushed a little more insistently, but not enough to force Illuvarion to the ground.

“Ai, you could…” Illuvarion groaned quietly, and leaned back on his hands. He met the Sinda’s green eyes with a surprisingly enticing look. “Let them watch, then, if that is what you wish."

He ran the tips of his fingers down Oropher's ear and to his lips. "Is it?"

"Perhaps..." he murmured, licking his lips as he drew back, then indeed pushed Illuvarion to the ground and lay atop him, pinning him there with his considerable weight. There was a devilish look in his eyes, one of mischief.

Equally full of mischief, Illuvarion then nipped gently at Oropher’s neck, and he gasped, surprised. Without bothering to control himself, he moaned, "Do that again."

With a surprising growl, Illuvarion raked a hand into Oropher's hair and pulled back, then bit him harder, and licked the side of his neck before doing it a third time.

'NH!" Oropher yelped, immediately feeling a surge of desire and arousal.

Rather surprised at himself and how much he was enjoying this – and at the quickly building desire to do things to Oropher – Illuvarion was careless, and drew blood when he bit the flesh at the base of the Sinda’s neck. For a moment he was shocked and worried, but a heavy feeling of lust clouded that, and he licked the blood from the wound, slowly, growling.  
  
“Silwë…” Oropher groaned as his body tensed, enjoyment obvious.

Illuvarion gasped at hearing this name moaned into his ear, and sucked a mark over the wound in an openly claiming, dominant way, though he was still pinned to the grass. “Say that again,” he purred, “It sounds good on your lips.”

Voice rich with desire, Oropher whispered it into Illuvarion’s ear, again. He scratched at the robes the Noldo wore, wanting to touch more of his body. Obliging, Illuvarion deftly unfastened the garment to his waist, raising his body to let the silky fabric slip from his now bare torso.

He ran his hands up Oropher’s back, raking sharp nails across the skin there. Oropher groaned, and struggled to unlace his leggings, which had begun to feel uncomfortably tight.

"Oropher," he purred into the Sinda's ear, "You... Do things... To me..." He pressed his body up against him, whining. His voice became a whisper, heavy with passion.

“Ooh…” Kicking the now-useless leggings to the side, Oropher draped his gloriously nude form across Illuvarion’s body, unfamiliar and willowy.

“You do…” He trailed kisses down Oropher's neck, then caught the Sinda’s pointed ear-tip between his teeth gently, and sucked on it a moment; Oropher’s breath hitched and he ground himself against the Noldo’s slender body, the state of his arousal obvious. Their lips met, and Illuvarion kissed him with a surprising ferocity.

Illuvarion clawed one handed at the sash to his robe, with the other hand in Oropher’s hair, finally rendering himself far more naked – which is to say, completely so – than he’d been in front of anyone in a very long time.

“I haven’t… Not like this.” His body trembled slightly as he wrapped his leg around Oropher’s body and pulled him close, then breathed a needful, hot sigh into his ear. His body ached for this, and such physical need and heightened desire were feelings with which he was wholly unfamiliar. “…You will have to show me.”

“Of course…” Oropher’s need had grown almost painful, and Illuvarion's body stretched gracefully, and the faint light provided by the sky showed pale skin against the dark ground, hair was tousled already and spilt like ink across the grass. Stroking himself, he gazed down at the beautiful sight before him.. “Silwë…”

“Yes… Oropher… Please…” Illuvarion murmured, breath coming in quiet pants. He wondered whether he would die, should he wait any longer. “I am yours…”

Oropher pushed into him, gently at first, and sighed, his hair falling to pool around Illuvarion’s body as the words sank into the back of his head. “Yes… That’s right.” As Oropher thrust deep into him again, Illuvarion found himself arching his back and moaning some rather naughty-sounding things into his ear in Quenya, one hand entwined in his lover’s hair and the other clawed into the soft grass upon which they lay.

So it was that the stars did indeed witness this, as the night went on and impassioned sounds finally faded to soft whispers. Dawn was coming, and the two lay entwined on the shore, murmuring sweet, quiet things to each other.

Illuvarion drew his hand through Oropher's hair, laying on his chest. "We... Should we get back...?" He wondered if there was any possible way in all Arda the entire camp wouldn't know what had happened. His robes were wet and also filthy, and Oropher was covered in bite marks and scratches. Both were flushed with exertion and with the giddy, telltale glow of new lovers. "...before they send people looking?"

Oropher nodded. "They will not say anything, you know. I command them against slander."

"It is not slander if it it is true," Illuvarion teased him, gathering up his wet clothing around him. He felt something that threatened to melt pieces of him he didn't know were frozen, and it was terrifying. He said nothing, but smiled, and kissed the back of Oropher's neck. "Come."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of Oropher's sexy Sindarin ways provided by Doitsuki ;D


	15. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling into what will be their new home, the elves set about their work nearly immediately, planning their great permanent settlement. As summer gives way to autumn, theories begin to circulate about exactly how close Illuvarion and Oropher *really* are.

Illuvarion's ancient and vague maps of this eastern part of the world had indicated that deep within the southern reaches of the great woodland place where the dense forest gave way at the foot of a lone hill. This place would require little clearing of the forest, and would provide, he thought, an easily defensible place for a permanent settlement. An agreement among the group was easily reached; they set out soon after and found the journey easily made, crossing the Anduin at last into the Greenwood.

They found the woods inhabited already by Silvan elves, who greeted them warmly, happy to see that among the ranks of this group of new arrivals were some of their distant cousins, the Silvan elves who had come with the Sindar of Beleriand. It would seem there were no objections to those who would call his place their new home, as the company set about settling into their new home.

Illuvarion spent his days in the early autumn assessing in detail the lay of the land; this was indeed a worthy spot for settlement Oropher hoped to make for his people. Among the Sindar had come several builders, Doriathian elves whose families were at one time renowned for their skill and who sought to take up their trade again here in their new home. Two brothers, Geldir and Celedor, excitedly took the Noldo's findings and began to put ideas to parchment. Calling to mind the former glory of Menegroth, a tower upon the hill was devised, a place that would serve as the heart of a kingdom that did not yet exist.

A crisp evening in the early days of autumn found an assortment of elves lounging around a great bonfire, and though it was no festival the mood was celebratory. The Laiquendi, two sisters by the names of Memiel and Mirwen, had put aside their instruments and joined a few younger Sindar in playing a kind of drinking game in which rocks were being thrown at a tree.

Illuvarion sat nearby, deeply absorbed in the detailed plans he had received, a draft showing the construction that could be. The foundations were already underway. Suddenly, he was startled by a small pebble that landed directly in his lap. He heard a gasp, and some stifled giggles

"Sorry!" Memiel, the younger of the two, barely over a hundred years of age, called out a bit drunkenly. She waved. He waved back, indicating that he was not upset. He had barely gone back to his plans, before Oropher sat next to him, giving him a big, squeezy hug.

The group looked, and waited. They were curious about the Noldo, but especially about his curiously close friendship with their Sindarin leader. There had been gossip about the two, plenty of it, and this served to refuel the fire.

“They’re _**friends**_.” Said Mirwen, making a point to exaggerate “friends” as though she didn’t believe it. She stole a furtive glance at the two of them and nodded her head as though it proved a point. Illuvarion was telling a story of some kind to the Sinda, who was playing with the Naldo’s hair. "Look at them. The way he's playing with Illuvarion's hair..."

“Have you seen the way they walk together? So close... and for a Noldo, too." Memiel giggled. “If you ask me, they are definitely _not_ just friends.”

Galion, not quite as young as the others but certainly still youthful, leaned on a log. “He has a wedding ring. Illuvarion does, I mean. He has it on a necklace.”

“They’re still… Look.” Memiel didn’t look convinced by this. She pointed at the two, still sitting together. Illuvarion was leaning against Oropher’s shoulder. “They’re cute. Look, he’s sleepy.”

Galion winked. "Maybe they should sleep together."

Mirwen poked Galion with her foot. "Maybe they already do sleep together."

”Oropher _has_ been openly courting him, right?" Memiel agreed.

"I... Don't know." Mirwen looked unsure. The signs were all there, but... "I mean..."

“Neither do they,” Galion said, rather thoughtfully. “I get the feeling that they are not entirely sure what they’re doing.”

Not too very far away, Illuvarion pressed closer to Oropher, his cloak blocking from view that the Sinda had his hands up Illuvarion’s robe, and was squeezing his bare thigh. He leaned close and whispered “Go, I will be there soon… People are watching.” Oropher nuzzled close briefly and licked his ear, then casually got up and wandered off.

The group, rather disappointed, stopped paying attention, and never noticed that a few minutes later, Illuvarion had departed as well. 


	16. Winter Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter has come, construction is underway at Amon Lanc and celebration is in the air. Gifts are given and rumors continue to circulate.

Winter was upon Amon Lanc. The “base camp” the party had established had turned to more of a permanent village, with homes of wood and stone replacing more temporary structures. It was abuzz with activity both related and unrelated to the quickly rising foundations for the permanent construction upon the hill. It had taken little time for the building to begin in earnest; the elves were excited and forging ahead admirably. By spring, the towers and halls would begin to rise.

A festival of sorts was in the making, for the year was about to turn, though preparations for this had, for the day, given way to relaxation; the atmosphere was festive, though the festival itself was not to begin for several days. A small group of elves sat around a fire, sharing gossip with the kind of urgency only youth provides

Oropher was looking for Illuvarion, sneaking about and trying to be inconspicuous. He held something in his hands, covered by a cloak. He found the Noldo leaning against a tree and watching the younger elves play their drinking games and share their gossip; he snuck up beside him, leaning in close.

"Silwë…"

Illuvarion was momentarily startled, but his excitement at Oropher randomly appearing was much more apparent than his surprise.

Oropher didn't even care if anyone saw what he was about to do. He unwrapped the cloak he had around his gift for Illuvarion and then presented the Noldo with a circlet of silvery branches.

Illuvarion gasped and looked up. "Is... Is this for me?"

Oropher nodded excitedly. Small bits of ice had crystallized between the branches and a very light dusting of snow and frost covered the circlet, sparkling in the moonlight that came through the trees.  
  
Illuvarion made a high pitched kind of noise that indicated that he was excited about this, and blushed deep pink. "Are... Really? Did you make this for me?" He seemed more excited than most to receive a home-made present, when, as he did, one owned chests full of priceless jewelry.

"Do you like it?" Oropher gave Illuvarion a kiss on the forehead.

Illuvarion looked thrilled, as though someone had given him the Silmarils themselves. He was very quiet for a moment. He had little experience in receiving gifts. "No one gives me gifts... Thank you."

Within the group Illuvarion had been watching, Memiel spotted the goings on and in her hurry to get Mirwen's attentions, she kicked Galion's cup over, spilling wine into his lap. Galion started squirming around, making upset, quiet noises. She felt bad, and both apologized and refilled Galion's cup, then recruited him to explain the finer points of the goings on; the Laiquendi had their own odd rituals and traditions.

Galion glanced at what was happening and then giggled.  "That... yes, Oropher is definitely courting him. He has offered a creation of his own handcraft, imbued with spirit and love."

Mirwen groaned. “He doesn’t understand… The Noldor are oblivious.”

“He likes it, though…” Memiel sighed. “His heart has to know. Maybe the Noldor just respond differently.”

Illuvarion, for the most part, looked as though he might actually cry, as he attempted to recall whether he'd ever been given a sweet, home-made gift such as this before. "I... Don't have anything for you."

 _At least, not yet,_ he thought.  _Soon. It is finished..._

Oropher shook his head. "You don't need to worry." Once he was sure Illuvarion would not drop the circlet in shock, he laced his arms around the Noldo's waist and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "You are present beside me... and that is a gift in itself."

Illuvarion felt his ears get pinker, and felt quite special. He looked down at the circlet in his hands, and up, in a shy kind of way that seemed endearingly vulnerable when done by an ancient sorcerer of the Noldor. "Thank you."

Oropher looked pleased, and drew back to give Illuvarion a little space. He couldn't keep himself from smiling, and his eyes were alight with joy. Illuvarion had accepted his gift! The Noldo had to take his hair down partially to remove he circlet he was wearing already, but he did so, and put the one he had been given on immediately. "Like this?"

Oropher nodded. The silver suited Illuvarion and contrasted nicely with his dark hair. "You look absolutely perfect."

Illuvarion touched Oropher's cheek. "You are so good to me. I do not know what to say." He laced his fingers into Oropher's, squeezing his hand.

Oropher was having the time of his life and nuzzled Illuvarion, getting nice and close to him. "It’s fine."

Illuvarion tugged playfully at Oropher's hair. "I'll find something for you, before the main event. Perhaps rocks…" it sounded as though it could have been teasing, but he was both serious and very sweet as he said this. He looked about, and then, from the sleeve of his robe, procured an actual rock, small and smooth and greenish, like one that would be found in a river bed. He allowed this to cover his nervousness; he had, he knew, prepared an actual gift for the Sinda.

"Like this." He offered it to Oropher. "I chose it because it is green. Like your eyes." His voice was barely whisper-volume, he was so unsure of himself by the end of this sentence.

Oropher gazed at the rock and took it, holding it in his hand.

"Thank you." He kissed Illuvarion's ear and purred at him.

"It is just a rock... But I did pick it up, because I thought of you.” Illuvarion took his hand, and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it, trying to ignore his self-consciousness at this public display of open affection.

Oropher gazed into Illuvarion's eyes. "You think of... me?"

"Of course..." Illuvarion blushed deeply. "Why would I not?"

Oropher glanced aside. "W..well uh... we can discuss that another time. Come here." He pulled Illuvarion into his lap and squeezed him.

Illuvarion was confused. Why wouldn't he think of Oropher? It was not as though he had not been in his quarters just the other night, and... He pushed that thought away, for propriety. He traced his finger over a spot where he knew he'd bitten Oropher hard enough to bruise him. "I think of you," he repeated, and nuzzled him. “Often.”

Oropher said nothing, contemplation etching lines upon his face. Still, he returned Illuvarion's nuzzles and purred quietly.

Illuvarion felt content to nestle into Oropher's embrace, making quiet, low noises. He smiled, but asked, "is something wrong?"

Oropher shook his head. "No, no. Don't worry. Let me hold you."

“Gladly.” He rested his head against Oropher’s shoulder..

Oropher was lost in thought about why he felt the need to do things for Illuvarion, to offer him gifts and snuggle up close with him. Any other Noldo he would've slaughtered and ate. But this one... he liked this one. And he didn't quite know why.

Also lost in thought, Illuvarion considered the gift he had created for Oropher; he wished his lover to know that he was special. He would present it at the coming festival, he decided, and brushed away his nervous feelings of doubt, pressing his lips gently to the Sinda’s neck.


	17. Melmënya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new year is upon the elves of the Greenwood, and it's hard to keep things secret when feelings start to get in the way and your lover can't keep his hands out of your robes in public, so... Best to just admit how you feel and get it over with.

The celebration had come, and the New Year had dawned in the Greenwood. As night fell, Illuvarion set to light many small glass spheres he had hung among the trees like stars; these were Noldorin lamps, they glowed from within under their own light. It was very impressive, and he was satisfied with the suitably amazed reactions to his secret work.

The party was started, and he sat near the fringes on a low bench, with a glass of wine in his hand, he wore deep crimson silk robes embroidered heavily with black and gold threads, and set with many sparkling onyx beads. He wore a circlet of gold and rubies, and his many earrings matched, a motif of stars and leaves. He looked thoughtful, and perhaps mildly tipsy, and was gazing off into the distance. He had a gift to give, and a confession to make.

  
Oropher was quite drunk and enjoying himself as he sought Illuvarion, waving at him from amongst a group of elves. Though Illuvarion was still a bit distracted, he was obviously happy to see the drunk, happy Sinda, and waved him over.

"Enjoying yourself?" asked Oropher, leaning in to kiss Illuvarion atop his head.

"I am." He gave a pleased smile, and tilted his head to the side. He wore his hair loose, and fell to his waist, glossy and black; throughout it were tiny, sparkling crimson beads that matched to his circlet and robe.

He gazed at Oropher for a while.

"Mmm... You look as beautiful as always, Silwë." Oropher ran his fingers through Illuvarion's hair, a lopsided smile on his face.

Illuvarion felt the tips of his ears grow pink, as he blushed. He wondered if he would ever take compliments with any sort of grace. "I ... Thank you... It is nice to wear fine things..."

Emboldened by the wine, however, he stood, and slipped his arm around Oropher's waist, nuzzling him briefly. "Never as beautiful as your words make me feel."

“Ooh..." Oropher closed his eyes. "Now I don't have anything to say to that." He mewled at Illivarion, leaning on him.

"Then don't say anything." He set his cup down and ran his hands through Oropher's hair, and kissed his cheek. He felt a bit conscious of his actions among so many people, but did not allow it to stop him from this small affection.

Oropher kissed him right back, and lapsed into comfortable silence.

Illuvarion nuzzled him, pressing his lips briefly to the side of Oropher's neck. "It would be negligent of me to not mention that you are always captivating."  
  
Oropher was so unused to praise that he actually made a soft, unsure whimper. He closed his eyes. Giving a soft sigh of recognition - he understood that feeling plainly - Illuvarion nuzzled him again. He snuck a look around, over Oropher's shoulder. Yes, people were watching. He should stop this, before there was more gossip; this was their leader, and eventually the rumors could become destabilizing. He sighed.

Oropher moved and rested his face in Illuvarion's neck, murmuring sweet nothings to him.

His plans to withdraw for the sake of propriety foiled, he accepted this and stroked Oropher's hair. "Come sit," he beckoned towards the low couch he had occupied earlier, set back in a quiet space. "You do not have to," he added, perhaps too quickly. "If you wish to stand, and to speak to others, please do..."

Oropher suddenly took Illuvarion's face in one hand and smooshed their lips together. Only for a few seconds, before he withdrew.  
"You talk too much when you are unsure of yourself, SIlwe. Come, let us drink." He went to the couch.

Illuvarion was stunned for a moment, into silence, then sat, reclining on the soft cushions. "You are correct, I do. My previous solution was to speak rarely." He laughed. "But I am nervous… I admit.” He looked around, and saw no one watching.

Oropher kissed Illuvarion's ear and absently nibbled it from time to time as the two drank wine together and relaxed. He felt mischievous. Illuvarion shifted a bit so that he was reclining against Oropher. He rested his head on the Sinda's broad chest, listening to his heart, hand idly playing with his hair. Layers of glimmering crimson and black silk fanned across the cushions and across Oropher's legs. He purred as he felt strong hands stroke his shoulders, then his sides.

Oropher placed a hand upon Illuvarion's thigh and squeezed a little; this bordered on, perhaps, a bit risqué. Illuvarion glanced around. It had been months, and while there were rumors, as far as he knew, no one knew for sure of his and Oropher's increasingly frequent liaisons.

Illuvarion nuzzled him. " I am content to be here in the lap of the future King." He purred. "It is an honour."

"Ehehe..." Oropher made the most regal face he could and then slid his hand up the silky front of the sorcerer’s fancy robes, brushing teasingly along sensitive places beneath as Illuvarion stifled a gasp. "Well then. You may have to get used to sitting on me... I do not intend to leave you anywhere on your own."

Illuvarion blushed deeply at this. "I am certain that would become bothersome rather quickly," he teased Oropher gently. "Though i prefer not to go far."

  
Oropher slipped his hand beneath Illuvarion's robes and felt around, finding the soft, warm, bare flesh of his lower stomach, which he stroked gently. Illuvarion covered a soft moan of enjoyment by leaning forward to disguise this; his arousal was instant. "Someone will see," he whispered. "Ai… However… I adore your touch so."

"And if they see, what then?" Oropher purred, dipping his hand lower to tease around where he didn't dare go... just yet.

Illuvarion felt himself flush. "I... I do not know." He looked around again. He found this dizzying, terrifying, but also there was an air of intoxicating danger. "Nhh, you tempt me."

Oropher let his hand slide lower, finding his lover already aroused by his touch and words, and he caressed him there, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Illuvarion. "I only offer you what you want." He then began to whisper: "Does it shame you to think of how much I desire you?"

"Oh... No, no." Illuvarion shivered, and his voice too was a whisper, breathed hotly into Oropher's ear. "That you desire me so is beyond my imagining." He twined his hand in Oropher's hair, and shifted a bit, long robes falling to cover any indecency, for the moment.

  
Oropher began to fondle Illuvarion, his intent clear, leaning heavily upon him. Most of his own large frame covered what he was doing, and he pressed himself securely up against the Noldo, then let his hand curl around that part of his lover's body which it sought. He made a few gentle strokes, teasing, and enjoyed feeling the growing hardness against his fingers.

Illuvarion moaned quietly, clutching at Oropher's back. This was certainly a compromised position. "But... Oh, you feel good. Your hands are exquisite.... Nnh. But..." He shifted again, arching his body against Oropher's seeking hand. "Why..."

Oropher began to please him in the most distracting way possible. "Why what...?" he growled, licking behind Illuvarion's ear and then sucking on the tip. "Mm..."

  
Illuvarion stifled a deep moan, shuddering as he felt an ache grow within, waves of pleasure threatening to overtake him. "They will know, someone will... See... Me..." He felt his hips rise to meet Oropher's skilled motions. His whispered words came in panted breaths. "They will see... Us..."

"It does not matter." Oropher whispered, his voice deep and thick with lust. He was enjoying this, watching his lover try and maintain his composure while his body told plainly of what he truly desired, his length twitching in Oropher's hand. 

Illuvarion made a low, needful whine against Oropher's neck, and closed his eyes. His ability to care about how risky this was was fading fast; his worry that it was improper, scandalous. "Nnhghhhh... You are not ashamed? You are their leader, we kept this a secret. Your people whisper already... You... Stars, Oropher, you are incredible."

"I have no shame to lie with you.” Oropher continued stroking him, a little faster now, strong hands working as best they could. 

"Please..." Voice barely audible, Illuvarion moaned quietly against Oropher’s ear and submitted fully to this public claiming of his body. "Please... Don't stop."

He grunted, adoring the smooth feel of Illuvarion's heated skin and the submission in his voice as he begged. "Mmm… yes.”

"Please...” The words came to him in his native language, but he assumed that his lover would understand both the meaning and and his needful, wanton begging. "Oropher... _Nî yérentyë_... I need... Nnh..."

Oropher captured Illuvarion's lips in a kiss, fiercely dominating with a few growled words thrown in too.

"Silwë..." he whispered. "I want you to be mine."

"I... I am already..." Illuvarion's voice was a low whisper, heavy with both desire and emotion. "I always have been."

Oropher suddenly felt a surge of emotion within him. He could say nothing in response, so overtaken was he. Instead, he gave Illuvarion a long, pleasing stroke and bit him on the neck.

No sounds at all came to him, but a blinding and intense release did; physically and emotionally, as he breathed a simple, astonished sigh into Oropher's ear. He was shaking, afterward, as he felt himself awash in unfamiliar emotions.

Oropher bit his neck one more time, and pulled him close. “Mmh.”

Illuvarion laid his head back on Oropher's chest, murmuring " _Melmënya_ , you..." He stopped, shocked at this term of endearment, _beloved_ , having come unbidden. "I..."

Oropher did not know that particular word in Quenya and groaned, "What?"

"Nothing, I..." He changed his mind suddenly, about explaining it away, for he felt very endeared, to the point of being nearly overcome by it. He blushed deeply, and whispered the translation. "In... In Sindarin, _meleth nín_. Beloved."

Oropher's eyes widened with recognition, and then began to glisten. "...Oh..." He mouthed the words back at Illuvarion, and then covered his face with one hand.

Illuvarion touched the hand covering Oropher's face briefly. "Do not hide from me..." His voice was hoarse with emotion, unsure whether it was indicative of displeasure. "Have I upset you...?"

Oropher suddenly pulled Illuvarion down, pressing the Noldo's face into his own neck. His massive body shook with barely restrained sobs.

"S...Silwë... Nobody has ever..." his voice pitched a bit higher in a whisper now. "....loved me before..."

"I... I have never... Called someone this." Illuvarion felt choked. "I never felt..."

"It's..." Oropher whispered. "It... I..." he took a deep breath. "I feel for you, also."

“You… do?” Illuvarion felt light-headed. “I… worried you did not…”

“I do.” Oropher said, simply.

Illuvarion knew then that it was the right time.

"I wanted to give you... Something I made." Illuvarion's voice was soft. "I almost... Did not. I was afraid I was wrong, about how you felt."

Oropher's eyes lit up and still he spoke softly. "Show me...?"

He breathed, and drew from inside his robe a small, velvet pouch. Illuvarion looked hopeful and expectant, and nervous. "I... I made this." He gave it to him. “It is for you.”

From the pouch Oropher withdrew a pendant; roughly triangular in shape, it was a stylized design of an open book and a three-pointed leaf. The center was set with an emerald, polished to glossiness and which glowed from within.

Oropher stared deeply into the emerald as if transfixed. A soft breath of wonderment escaped him and he forced himself to blink.

"You made this… for me?" he whispered.

"I did..." Illuvarion spoke in soft, affectionate tones. "Etched by hand, for I have no forge or workshop to cast metals. The book is for my people. The leaf, yours. It is… It is a symbol of how much I care for you.”

Oropher fixed the pendant so it hung just right from his neck, and Illuvarion withdrew from his robe the match to it. “I made two.”

“Silwë…” Oropher put his hand over Illuvarion’s. “Meleth nín.”

“Yes.” Illuvarion did not care, any longer, who saw; though no one had noticed the two of them for a long time. “My beloved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oropher and his grabby hands by Doitsuki xD
> 
> This is actually a combination of like three different writing sessions


	18. Power and Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude, of sorts: Oropher pays Illuvarion a visit at his temporary workshop, things get kinky fast and we learn that the "S" in "S & M" can also stand for "Sorcery." A little bit of elemental magic never hurt anybody, right? Oh, yes, yes it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you're looking for plot, next chapter. If you're looking for kinky sorcery, you're in the right place. Sometimes you have to indulge those urges to write such things. It is character development, however.)
> 
> Kinky Content: Biting, blood, sadism/masochism, domination/submission, choking

Several months had passed as winter's chill melted into spring, and the Greenwood itself seemed to burst to renewed life. The construction at Amon Lanc was speeding along, a city rising out of nothingness upon the hill. Deep in the forest, however, Illuvarion had found a place of respite from the busy schedule of plans and building and questions. The former workshop of a Silvan woodworker, he spoke to the Silvan elves and gained their blessing to turn it into a temporary workshop for himself.

Though their love was no longer any secret, and had not been for nearly half a year, Oropher found that he still knew little of where and how his beloved spent his free time; when he learned of the workshop, it was still well into summer before, curious, he paid the occasionally elusive Noldo a visit. Night had fallen heavily on the deep woods, and after his knock at the door, there was silence.

"Silwë?" His voice seemed much louder than it was, against the hush of the deep woods.

There was a scraping sound as the bolt slid, and then the heavy wood door opened. Nobody was at the door. He entered anyway.

The one-room building was lit brightly by iron braziers, with a fire upon a stone hearth, and the air was heavy with incense. A low bed upholstered with silk cushions stood at the opposite end of the building, partially curtained by heavy black velvet, though the rest was rather undecorated, not that it mattered. A softly glowing rock crystal orb stood on a pedestal nearby, with no indication as to what it was, or was for.

"Please come in," Illuvarion, dressed in simple black robes with his long, dark hair pulled back, did not turn, for his attention was focused on his hands, bared and wrist deep in the fire of a small brazier that set upon his workbench. "Do not touch anything."

Oropher stepped closer to Illuvarion, standing behind him and looking at what he was doing. Then, he put a finger on Illuvarion's back.  
"...I can touch you, right?"

"If you wish." Illuvarion's voice betrayed a smile. "Though I cannot guarantee you will not get hurt."

The fire around his hands leapt high suddenly and turned a sickly green. With a few muttered words in Quenya, and a satisfied sound, he withdrew his hands, holding up a blackened object that appeared to be a brooch or pendant of some sort. Oblong, and lacy in appearance, it glowed red hot.

Oropher looked at it and seemed impressed. “This is… where you work your fancy… magic business?”

"It is." He reached back and ran a hand down Oropher's cheek, still hot from the fire, though not enough to be painful. He dropped the object into the brazier, and poured a handful of the glowing coals over it, smoothing them with his bare hands as though he touched nothing more than cool, normal garden soil. It was, to untrained Sindarin eyes, a bit daunting, this casual toying with the very elements.

Illuvarion turned, brushing his hands on his robe, and then put his arms over Oropher's shoulders, kissing his cheek. "I was not expecting visitors."

"I missed you." Oropher muttered, turning his face to steal Illuvarion's lips. He ran his hands down Illuvarion's sides and then encircled the Noldo's waist in a gentle hug.

"Mm." Illuvarion nuzzled against his neck. "You have found me."

Oropher made a soft, pleased sound and groped Illuvarion's ass. Pleased at this, Illuvarion too made a noise, a low sound that was barely audible. He nipped gently at the side of Oropher's neck, and then his ear. There was something that seemed strange and dangerous about him currently; a slight power-drunkenness of sorts. Oropher grunted, his eyes slipping shut as his body relaxed.

Illuvarion's hands came to rest on the small of his back, warmer than any elf's hands had any business being. "I am glad you are here..." He purred against Oropher's neck. "...though I will admit it is strange for anyone to see me thus."

"Well... you know I always enjoy seeing you, though you are often… a little less occupied." Oropher felt the warmth through the fabric of his tunic and breathed out softly. 

"I could be more occupied." He growled quietly. "Although... Hmm." He stopped, thinking.

Oropher raised a brow. "What is it?"

"I am... My work changes me." Illuvarion half purred and half growled against Oropher's neck, and bit him gently again; the work he did required much self-control, and that need for control did not leave him quickly. He tugged, slightly less-than-playfully, at the Sinda’s long, silky hair. There was something wild and fey about him currently; almost predatory. "I might… hurt you..."

"Nobody can hurt me." said Oropher, though the tone in his voice was curious instead of confident. "Would you like to try?"

  
"...I would." He stifled an almost involuntary moan at the idea. Visions of dominance and pain played out enticingly in his mind; fantasies that involved violence and sorcery. He felt the first prickling sensations of arousal just at the thought. "I would enjoy hurting you."

"Then let me indulge you." Oropher stripped himself completely naked and jumped onto Illuvarion's bed, taking up a sexy pose. "Come on."

Illuvarion found this sweet and almost innocent in an odd way. "You..." He curled next to Oropher, purring, a sharp edge beneath his words. "Are so beautiful."

He trailed kisses down Oropher's ear and neck, and hesitated briefly. Then he snarled, dug sharp nails into the flesh of Oropher's back and savagely bit his neck, easily drawing blood. Oropher yelped, instantly smacking Illuvarion in the thigh with an open, heavy hand, an instinctinve and surprised response.

Illuvarion's own response to this was to hiss and curl a hand around Oropher's throat, pinning him to the bed. He knew that he would easily be overpowered, physically, if Oropher wished it but he still growled at his lover instinctively in an openly dominant way. "I will stop if you have already had enough."

"Nng..." Oropher found himself growing more aroused by the second as Illuvarion's hand pressed down at his throat. He closed his eyes, and submit himself to the Noldo's will.

Illuvarion left his hand there, allowing his nails to press sharp against Oropher's neck as rent wounds across his lover’s chest, watching the blood pool at his fingertips with fascination, before bending to lap at these new wounds, a heavy and intense feeling akin to bloodlust overtaking him as he openly indulged in this wanton sadism.

"Silwë.." he gasped, arching into Illuvarion's touch. "Oh...." Oropher groaned heavily, feeling the sting of fresh wounds and feeling the blood run across his skin.

As he bit his lover again, causing the wound to bleed further, Illuvarion felt a dizzying feeling of power and control. Small embers flickered about his shoulders and hands, and he growled from deep inside his chest, lapping for a time at the blood that ran from Oropher's neck. He sat up, and their eyes met as he slowly and intentionally drew a deep gash across the Sinda's chest with sharp, already bloody nails.

Oropher actually winced at that and tossed his head aside, before Illuvarion pinned Oropher by his neck again. He ran his other hand through silvery hair, leaving lurid steaks of red there. He took a handful of hair securely and tilted his lovers face to his, breath short with desire."If... I do not stop now... I will actually hurt you. I will… Nrh. I am capable of far more than a few scratches. Sorcery is no… Trivial… Matter…"

"Ghh..." Oropher did not retaliate one bit and instead reached down to stroke himself. "You're doing... a very good job... at trying."

A dull red glow appeared seemingly behind Illuvarion's silver-green eyes, impossible to ignore. He had decided, for better or worse, that if this child’s play at injury by his bare hands would result in flippancy, he would see how the Sinda felt about the supernatural. He knew what he was about to do; the embers that flickered about his body grew brighter and about his hands there was a shimmer in the air, like that of the air above hot ground in summer. His hand curled still around Oropher’s neck, not choking, but threatening.

Holding his left hand away for a moment, feeling it engulfed in a white fire, Illuvarion let his eyes roll back slightly in anticipation, then opened them again, red glow still there. "This will hurt," he murmured, not bothering to conceal the excitement in his quiet voice. Then he drew his fingertips gently across Oropher's chest as he tightened his grip around the Sinda’s throat.

The sorcerer’s hand was hot as metal straight from the forge would be, and immediately raised welts across the skin though he had barely touched it. Illuvarion immediately was rewarded by a rush of physical and psychological pleasure, and Oropher squeaked and writhed around, obviously feeling legitimate pain. To Illuvarion's delight and surprise, he continued to stroke himself, faster now; he very clearly found pleasure in this treatment.

Illuvarion narrowed his eyes, enjoying seeing Oropher squirm. "I see you enjoy this... Perfect.” He squeezed harder, kissed Oropher deeply, then removed his right hand from the Sinda's neck, letting him breathe. He was, himself, panting heavily with the exertion and the sheer ecstasy of it all.

He replaced it with his left, supernatural heat searing the flesh beneath his hand as he curled his fingers around Oropher’s neck. Briefly he fantasized about doing more damage; he did not truly wish to permanently disfigure or injure his lover, but the thought of it… A desperate, wanton groan escaped him as the pleasure he felt flooded his body. Oropher cried out, his voice deep and pained, then cut off as Illuvarion choked him further before pulling his hand away and letting him gasp for breath again.

Seeing the mark his hand left sent dizzying rush of desire through him, and he knew Oropher could feel his arousal now, hardness pressed against his lover’s stomach as he straddled him. More sorcerous burns joined the scratches and bite-marks across his shoulders and chest, and Illuvarion soaked up the cries and groans of pain, grinding a bit against his lover’s body.

After indulging one last time in slashing a few long, welted burns across the now well-marked torso of his lover with his fingertips, he let his extremities cool and snarled into Oropher's ear, voice thickened by lust. "I need you. Ngh, you look perfect... like this, with my... Handprints... All over you..." He touched his hand to the blood that ran across the Sinda's chest, and licked it from his fingers.

Robes askew, he moved down to kneel between Oropher’s legs, and used his knee to roughly position his lover's body under him. "I would have you now."

"Please..." Oropher whispered. "Please do."

“Pleasure yourself for me,” Illuvarion purred. “I wish to see that you enjoy what I do to you.”

Smearing his hand with the blood that had run from a gash in the Sinda's chest, he then ran it along his own aching length and took him roughly that way, blood-slicked, with a primal sounding growl. His slight weight did little to press his larger partner into the silk cushions, but he entwined his blood-stained hands into his hair and kissed him hungrily.

Oropher was completely lost in his own pleasure and pain combined. He opened his eyes enough to stare at Illuvarion, lust and acceptance right there for him to understand. He kissed back so gently he almost didn't touch lips with Illuvarion, instead whining softly for more.

Mirroring his beloved’s expression, Illuvarion gazed back for a moment, and then gladly buried himself deep into his partner again, pinning him by his neck a final time as he took what pleasure he wished from his lover’s body, enjoying the gasps for breath and quiet groans.

Finally, with a shuddering sound of possession and need, hair spilling over his shoulders, Illuvarion could hold off no longer. "You... are..." He sighed, words punctuated by the movements he made against Oropher's body, a few final deep thrusts as he found a searing release within him. "Mine..."

"Yes...!" Oropher gasped and spilled himself upon feeling Illuvarion fill him with his own burning essence. 

Overcome, he collapsed, panting, against his lover's body. "Oropher..." He nuzzled his face against the Sinda's neck, kissing the burn he'd left there, gently.

Oropher lay still and silent, breathing.

As his own breathing slowed, Illuvarion raised his body to look at Oropher, who was rather well-damaged. Though his focus was never the arts of healing, he did what he could; much of the damage he had wrought by sorcery could be partially undone by the same. The gashes and bruises, however, remained, and Illuvarion kissed these spots tenderly.

Oropher closed his eyes. "Mhnnn..."

“Rest, beloved.” Illuvarion whispered. “You have served me well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oropher, that surprisingly kinky devil, was written mainly by Doitsuki as he often is.


	19. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly two years have passed and a great deal of work has been done at Amon Lanc. The nearing stage of completion which will warrant the founding of a kingdom and the coronation of a king leaves Illuvarion with many things to contemplate.

High in a newly constructed tower, just finished, up a steep and winding stone staircase, Illuvarion had just finished the task of finally taking from their chests his tools. They lay now upon a heavy workbench, in a room lined with black velvet curtains and bookshelves of carven wood, lit by many braziers and candles. He stepped onto the stone balcony, and saw the city, parts finished and parts still unbuilt, below, and the canopy of the great Greenwood stretch unbroken beyond, under the light of the moon and stars. Finally, he had his dwelling; part sorcerer's lair and part workshop.

Many nights he spent alone on the wide, open roof of this highest tower, stargazing. He thought of many things, but as the city grew beneath him, close to finished enough to become the true heart of the kingdom that would be, his thoughts turned often to that which he shared with his beloved. He wondered if, in the days that would soon come to pass, things would be required to change. Though what they shared was both true and real, he knew that there were considerations of propriety and culture. He was not, he realized, an ideal mate.

He had come here to fulfill the role of advisor, for what better advisor was there than one who could consult his own visions and fortellings, and interpret those of others; to weave both subtle and overt sorceries about the kingdom and influence that which may be influenced in such a way? When the future king had come to Illuvarion’s retreat deep in the woods some two years ago, he had not sought a mate, nor a lover. That had come later, unexpected but seemingly inevitable as the two were drawn together. As Oropher had a self-imposed destiny to fulfill, Illuvarion had, he felt, a duty. One that he knew must come before the way he felt.

He pulled his cloak around his body against the chill Spring air one night, and he knew that he would need to accept that an end may come to that which they shared. Illuvarion mourned privately; no one saw the tears or knew of his grief at that which may come to pass. And he made a vow that as he had cherished the last year since they had come to know this love, he would cherish what time may be left. And he would speak nothing of it.

When summer was nearly upon the wood, found himself in his workshop, late at night. He set a softly glowing sphere of rock crystal upon its pedestal. Similar in both form and function to the famed seeing-stones, the palantíri, it was not so powerful as they; this, while imbued, was simply an object Illuvarion used to focus his own powers of sight and foresight. He stood before it, and gazed almost unfocused into the center. No visions came to him, and this calmed him.

With no reason to feel melancholy – at least, not in the moment – he decided that he would seek out his beloved, rather than spend the night alone with his thoughts, and descended the stone steps back to the world of the Sindar, and into his lover’s welcoming arms, pushing away the thoughts of duty and limitation.


	20. The Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the first phase of construction draws close to finishing, a tragic accident occurs.

The stonework throughout the rapidly forming citadel at Amon Lanc was coming along nicely by the time summer came. It had been two years, somehow, though in many ways it seemed as though it had been an age, or a moment. The day was unseasonably chilly, a heavy mist hung upon the Greenwood and dampened all it touched; Illuvarion wore unseasonably warm robes to match, with layers of heavy night-blue silk to guard against the chill.

He stood hand in hand with Oropher, peering over the edge of a recently constructed stone walkway along the edge of one of the city's great stone cisterns. The still surface had mist upon it as well, and what water could be seen reflected the grey of the sky. It was fed by a spring, and so maintained its depth of close to sixty feet with little maintenance. 

"They'll cover it soon," a slight Silvan elleth called Hathaen was explaining to Oropher, clutching the plans in her small hands. "The walkway will be the edge of the courtyard, here." She pointed and he nodded politely.

"There should be a fountain." Illuvarion was paying more attention than his companion, and with a brief, affectionate squeeze, he released Oropher's hand and went to stand closer to the parchment. "Here... It would be a convenience to those in this part of... Ai, what was that?"

He had heard an odd noise, a low, halting grind. As Hathaen and Oropher continued their tour, he paused briefly to look around, and before he could identify anything, everything became chaos as the stone walkway gave way underfoot. With little more than an astonished cry, he was plunged, with the great stones that had been underfoot all about him.

Panic flooded his senses as the icy water swallowed him, and then, too quickly, he found himself at the bottom. He knew he must somehow reach the surface, but... His body felt odd. His positioning was somehow wrong. There were… Rocks? Was it the walkway? And then a staggering pain came with the realization that his right hand had been crushed by, and trapped under, a great slab of granite.

Suddenly, he was rather calm; the panic had not gone, but somehow the knowing of his fate let him accept it, rather than the frantic struggle it would have been to try and survive. His breath would run out, soon.

_"Oropher,"_ he thought, _"We had so short a time."_

As his consciousness left him, Illuvarion beheld a vision, brighter and more real than life itself. Mist parted and showed him his home; a sight unexpected by he who had been doomed to exile. _**Valinor**_. He gasped, but his consciousness left him before he felt the water in his lungs.

Blackness hung heavy upon the world, and Illuvarion could not clear it by blinking. He tried to shake his head, and realized he was in a great deal of pain, and was very weak. He laid back against the pillows, confused and saddened. He heard somewhat distorted voices, speaking. 

_"The air smells wrong,"_ he thought, eyes closed. Illuvarion would have known well the Halls of Mandos, where he sometimes walked in his so-called youth. _"Estë has me, then."_

An insistent, loud voice cut through his haze a bit, Doriathian; it was Oropher. He spoke insistently to someone, both worried and demanding.

_"Could it be?"_ Illuvarion winced. _"The collapse must have claimed him, as well."_ He forced his eyes open, and still all was hazy. The familiar form of his beloved sat at his bedside, though all he truly saw was how large he was and his long hair. His eyes hurt. Everything hurt.

"Silwë?" Oropher had forced his voice to a calmer, quieter tone than the demands he had made a moment ago. "Can you... Can you hear me?"

"I can." His voice was hoarse, and his throat hurt. His words came out in Quenya, and he concentrated on trying to form the words in Sindarin. "Oro...  You are here too..."

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" He seemed confused.

"I thought... You were... It matters not. You are here." 

Someone whispered to Oropher, and he whispered back. There was was a silence. "Silwë... Do you know where you are?"

"...Valinor." Illuvarion's voice was wistful, amazed. "I am forgiven. So soon…”

"Oh..." The Sinda's deep voice cracked slightly, sorrowful. "Silwë... You..."

"There is so much..." Illuvarion coughed, painfully. "So much to show you..."

"No, meleth nín. Not now..." Oropher sighed, and rested his head on Illuvarion's chest. "Perhaps someday."

"What... Oropher..." Illuvarion felt a doubt enter his mind. Things solidified a bit, and he realized that he had, in fact, somehow survived. "No... I..." Illuvarion sobbed openly for a while, the dream over.  _It was so close... I thought I was... NO..._

Feeling Illuvarion's breath steady after a while, Oropher lifted his head from the Noldo's chest, and silently stroked his hair.

"My homeland is... Still lost to me, then." Illuvarion whispered. "But the Valar saw fit to deliver me back to you, melmënya." He lifted his right hand to touch Oropher's face. The Sinda grew alarmed.

"No, Silwë..." It was too late; Illuvarion’s hand made no contact with his lover’s face, and as he turned his eyes, he saw that below his wrist there was nothing. A look of horror overtook him, and his voice would not come. He stared at his bandaged arm, now resting on Oropher's shoulder.

"You... You were trapped. Crushed by the fallen stonework." Oropher attempted to mask guilt at what he had done with casual practicality. "I didn't know if you were alive. I cut it off and brought you to the surface."

Illuvarion was still silent, shock rendering him so still he forgot to breathe, then was shaken by a coughing fit.

"You breathed in so much water... And the rocks, you were badly injured... It has been weeks, Silwë. I..." His voice grew emotional. "You wouldn’t wake up…”

“I had a vision, before everything went dark…” Illuvarion whispered. “My home as though approached by ship; the mist, the shore… I was sure… “ He felt his voice catch in his throat, painful and sharp. “I did not know I wanted it so badly…”

Oropher stroked his hair again, for he did not know how to comfort the hurt that seemed to spill from every pore in Illuvarion’s body; both the broken bones and missing limb, and his astonishingly open distress at having learnt that he was not, in fact, dead.

“The weather…” Oropher knew as much as had been explained to him, and tried to go on. “Something about the rain, and the masonry settling incorrectly. Cracks formed… No one knew...”

“Of course.. Of course not…” Illuvarion was sad for those who might hold themselves responsible. “It was an accident. Construction must go on. It is... At least it is not my left.” He was still in shock.

Illuvarion felt faint, and said no more, simply trying to process what had happened. After a time, he had fallen asleep again, clutching at Oropher’s tunic, head buried beneath a pillow. With the leave of the healers, Oropher picked him up as though he weighed nothing, and went to his quarters, where he intended to house the Noldo until he recovered.

For a while, he sat in his bed, cradling Illuvarion’s currently rather broken body, and listening to him breathe, calm but slightly strained. He stirred briefly, whimpering “Oro…” He pawed at his beloved with a hand he no longer had. “It hurts…”

As he knew nothing else to do, he took Illuvarion’s delicate wrist in his large hands, and whispered “Shh. I’m here.”


	21. My Shining Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a cranky Noldorin sorcerer slowly recovers from nearly drowning and the loss of his hand, gets his hair done, and r o m a n c e happens.

Though the elves are strong of body and quick to recover from injury, Illuvarion's wounds healed slowly. He had many broken bones and contusions, and had lost a hand. He was very old, and while his fëa was like an undimmed lamp, he had seen much grief in his life; pain both physical and emotional took time to leave him. He sat comfortably on a cushioned couch near a fountain, a shady spot in the garden adjacent to Oropher's quarters. His own quarters were far less grand and open, high in a lone tower. Though he had overcome being entirely bedridden, the stairs were tiring. Everything was tiring, and the summer heat did not help at all.

The construction of what would be the grand main hall was nearly complete. While work could continue at Amon Lanc for many years to add yet more to the settlement, it was safe to say that what would soon become a kingdom had, very nearly, a seat of power. The future king had been there since morning, working, but as the day grew hotter, he increasingly grew anxious to return home. Since the accident, Oropher had taken it upon himself to care for Illuvarion, and occasionally grew worried. Satisfied with the work accomplished, he went home.

Far less stealthy than most Sindar, he heard Oropher coming easily and sat up a bit straighter, attempting to hide his irritable mood. The Sinda was, as he often was in the summer, shirtless, if one did not count the sleeveless linen tunic he wore to his knees, unbuttoned as one would wear a coat. He sat heavily, as he tended to, on the ground, and out his head in Illuvarion's lap.

Oropher peered up at Illuvarion with a gentle, but weary smile on his face. "Miss me?"

Despite his moodiness, Illuvarion could not help but smile at this, and put his hand on Oropher's head. "I did." He sighed. "I can hardly imagine working in this heat. I am exhausted, and I have been doing nothing but sitting here since you left this morning."

Oropher purred and moved to try and lick at Illuvarion's hand. "Heeh, it's nothing I can't handle. I wouldn't be opposed to a bit of wine and some rest now, though..."

Illuvarion let Oropher lick his hand, sighing quietly as he relaxed somewhat. He had been resting all day, but company at doing so would alleviate some of his boredom, surely.

"I would not decline either." He ran his hand through Oropher's hair. "Though I feel I have become rather an expert at resting."

"Mm..." Oropher agreed. "If you want to do anything else, just let me know I'll be happy to accompany you, meleth nin."

"Perhaps." Illuvarion smiled. "For now, it is hot, and I am tired... More rest with better company could not hurt."

He moved to push his heavy, dark hair away from his face and awkwardly failed to do so, forgetting again his missing right hand. He made a sharp, irritated sigh and an exasperated face. His heavy, dark hair was unbound as usual, as he could not tie it back one handed; it hung about him like a inky cloak. It was hot, and it bothered him.

Oropher looked up at him. Then he had an idea.  
  
"Hmm. Silwë, would you like me to braid your hair? It is a fine way to relax."

"I... I would not wish to trouble you with it." He looked wistful for a moment, and seemed to change his mind. "...but it is so heavy, and there is so much of it. I cannot even tie it back." 

He looked pained; accustomed to wearing his hair braided, pinned up or tied back in elaborate and decorative ways, he desperately wanted it done so, away from his face. But it seemed a rather menial task to ask of someone else. "...you do not need to braid it, if it is a bother. If you would simply tie it back for me, that would be more than enough."

Oropher gave Illuvarion a fond smack on the thigh as he sat up and positioned himself behind Illuvarion, easily lifting the Noldo into his lap.

"Come now, no lover of mine will suffer having their hair tied back like a peasant." He began weaving his fingers through Illuvarion's hair, deft despite the thickness and strength in those pale hands. 

As he shifted positions, Illuvarion winced. Apparently his shoulder still had some healing to do.

"It is... It is just that it is menial, and... vain..." He sighed. Oropher was right, it was rather relaxing. He'd never had anyone else do this for him. "It seemed inappropriate to ask you to indulge my rather Noldorin vanity."

Oropher shook his head. "Sindarin families do this all the time. It is not vain, it is functional. And you can't say functional without fun." He kissed Illuvarion's ear as he worked a quick, precise fishtail braid that was thinner than his index finger down the back of Illuvarion's head.

"I... Ugh." Illuvarion sighed, and looked at his hand, quiet for a few moments. Then he started again, with a resigned, confessional tone. "I feel so helpless, Oropher. It is difficult for me."

"Mhm..." Oropher hummed, listening to Illuvarion as his hands worked.

"I am broken, and impatient, and that is an unfortunate combination of things to be." He laughed quietly, and stroked Oropher's leg. "Though it is difficult for me to accept it, I cannot complain about the quality of the assistance I have received, however."

"Heh. I'm glad I can at least do something for you." Oropher enjoyed the stroking and planted a kiss in the back of Illuvarion's head. It was warm and soft.

"You make it sound as though having a bored, injured, irritable Noldorin sorcerer living in your quarters for the last month has been some trivial task." Illuvarion laughed, and squeezed Oropher's thigh fondly.

"I like looking after you." Oropher said quietly. "You mean the world to me, Silwë."

Illuvarion was shocked into quiet by this, briefly.

"It means much to me. I would do the same, for you." He made a quiet noise, not quite a sigh. "Mmh. My hair... It feels good, melmënya." He leaned back against Oropher. "It is nice to not feel as though I am wearing one of my winter cloaks. It is too thick, and too heavy."

"As long as you are comfortable, then my work is complete." said Oropher.

"I am... "All the more so by being here with you..." He turned his face to the side, and kissed Oropher's neck. "I admit... I have grown used to being here."  
  
"So have I." Oropher's voice held a hint of pride. "It is our home, now... and one I will work to build and protect."

"I meant here, in your quarters, melmënya. It will be hard to adjust when I am well enough to return to my own..." Illuvarion felt rather self-conscious. He was having a hard time remembering how it was to not live here.

"You could always just stay here with me." Oropher purred into Illuvarion's ear. "I would bend for you whenever you asked... and keep your company during the night."

"You already do the first part." Illuvarion purred right back. "And then some... Usually I need not even ask."

Oropher blushed, giggling into Illuvarion's hair. "Well, you're not wrong..."

"And since when has that ever been confined to your - or my - chambers?" His voice trailed off, and he grew thoughtful and serious.

"Oropher... I... I am not your spouse. It is not my place to live here, with you..." Illuvarion looked away, hiding a sudden sharp feeling of sadness. "It is not something at which I can play."

"Then be my spouse." said Oropher, entirely serious.

Illuvarion was not prepared for that. He turned slowly, ignoring the pain it caused him, and gazed at Oropher for a moment. "You... are serious." He was lost for anything to say.

Oropher smiled. "Of course I am! What, you thought I was braiding your hair just for the hell of it?" He blushed, trying to keep himself from going quiet and sounding shy. "It's a proposal. The most ancient Sindarin rite."

He had never heard of this particular tradition, but was in no mood to question it. Illuvarion blushed too. "I did not know of this..." He touched Oropher's cheek gently. "Are you sure? You plan to be king of this land. I had thought you would want..." He was quiet for a while. "I am not royalty. Or Sindarin..."

Oropher shook his head and spoke defiantly. "You are my shining star. I would have no other."

A soft cry escaped him, and Illuvarion felt himself trembling slightly. He put his arms around Oropher's neck, burying his face.

Oropher hugged Illuvarion gently, not wishing to hurt him.

"Then I will be your shining star always, for there is nothing I want more than this." Illuvarion touched his forehead to Oropher's. "I had no idea that... this... was something you wanted."

Oropher purred. "It is." He then tilted his head and captured Illuvarion's lips in a kiss, one that was heart meltingly sweet and full of all that his words could not express.

"Then my place **is** here." Illuvarion murmured, between kisses. "With you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oropher's smooth Sindarin ways provided by Doitsuki :D


	22. Finery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oropher doesn't have anything to wear, and doesn't really want to talk about it.

Oropher was sitting and watching Illuvarion work, attaching tiny star-shaped gems set in platinum to the "branches" of a crown made to look as though it were wrought of wood. They swung freely on delicate chains that seemed like cobwebs, the overall look of the object such that it seemed to recall the forest under a full moon and stars.

Illuvarion had become quite proficient with the use of his new "hand", using some odd combination of mechanical and sorcerous methods to move the fingers deftly. He used this apparatus almost solely to do his crafting; though as an object it was beautiful, crafted of airy filigree and articulated segments like a very fancy scale gauntlet, Oropher found it spooky to watch.

Illuvarion looked up from his work, wearing small rectangular eyeglasses to better see the tiny detail on the gems he was setting, and noticed he was not alone. He had been very involved, and did not know how long his beloved had been watching him work.

Oropher raised his eyebrows and smiled at Illuvarion. 

"What's that for?" he asked. They weren't married officially _yet_ , but Oropher liked to dream... 

Illuvarion pushed his glasses up to sit on top of his head, and turned. He felt his ear tips grow warm, it was self indulgence, purely; he too liked to dream. "It... Is... There will come a time when I will have need of such things to wear, melmënya." He touched Oropher's waist. "I had not anticipated needing to make two sets of such jewelry."

Oropher tilted his head to the side. "Mm? Why?" His fingers drifted to brush past Illuvarion's hands.

"...I did not know i too would require such finery, and had made only that which would be worn by the king." Illuvarion felt the redness of his ears creep across his cheeks. "But... Now..."

"Finery..." Oropher suddenly glanced away, his entire face reflecting a flood of unsure hesitation. "But... I don't... wear... finery...?" 

Illuvarion set his eyeglasses on his workbench, and then next to them, the gauntlet he was wearing. He found it awkward to wear when he was not working, and no need for it for the most part. He felt a vague concern; something about this bothered him. 

"Oropher... There is to be a coronation. A… a wedding.” He turned fully to face Oropher, hands still on the Sinda's waist. He looked up at him. "Soon, beloved. People have begun to question. It will require such things."

Oropher, the mighty berserker warrior King, looked afraid. "But... but Silwë, I have nothing to wear... I can't..." He did not want to explain, and stepped back.

Illuvarion stood, head tilted to the side. "Do not worry. Your jewelry has been complete for months." He smiled, somewhat perplexed, but also worried. 

Oropher tapped his fingers together, then fidgeted some more with his hands. His eyes darted around. Then he sat down on the bed, looking defeated yet his eyes were still wide with fear.  

Sensing something obviously wrong, Illuvarion sat beside him, and put his arm around his waist. "What troubles you?" He felt himself pale a bit; perhaps he was having second thoughts about this marriage business. "Have you... Changed your mind... About..." He trailed off, not wanting to complete the thought.

Oropher shifted, suddenly extremely self conscious. He did not trust himself to speak, and stared at the ground. 

"If you would rather... I suppose it was presumptuous of me to assume that we would... Er..." Illuvarion felt awkward. "If you have changed your mind... About us, I mean..."

"I don't have... anything to wear..." Oropher repeated himself in a small voice. 

"I do not understand." He looked at Oropher, confused. "We have not chosen anything, that is true...?"

"You can choose whatever you like. But nothing I want will fit." Oropher desperately looked into Illuvarion's eyes.

Illuvarion took Oropher's cheek gently in his hand and looked at him, head tilted to the side. "...what do you mean? They have yet to even make anything'" 

"No-one who makes clothes ever makes them big enough for me." Oropher whispered, and then tore his face away. He clenched his hands into fists. 

Illuvarion felt a realization start to dawn on him, but could not yet put it to words. "Where... Why would..." He blinked slowly a few times.

Oropher's shoulders shook and still he remained silent.

"You have never had clothing that is not of the kind which you now own? Or armour?" He could scarcely believe that the renowned Champion of Doriath would own so little.

_He was a Sindarin lord,_ Illuvarion thought. _How could that be?_  

"They wanted me gone. I never needed armour." Oropher shook his head violently and his hair spread everywhere.

Shocked, Illuvarion jumped slightly. "Wh... Who?"

Oropher turned then to Illuvarion, tears in his wide green eyes. " _Everyone."_

"I do not understand... Your military experience is legendary, even among my people... How could..." Illuvarion tried to put this together and got nothing.

Oropher spoke quietly. "I was known for fighting with broadswords and breeches, not a gleaming helm and spear." Silvery tears dripped down his face. "I... Fighting was all I was good for in Doriath. It's... all I still am."

"You are good for so much more... Why would…" llluvarion had a realization. "You mean... You mean in your youth."

Illuvarion realized then that he knew nothing of Oropher's life before he was the renowned military hero of the late last age.

Oropher curled into a ball, shivering. He did not want to remember his youth, and Illuvarion curled around him, unsure what to say or do. And then he put it together in his mind, the worry Oropher had.

"Melmënya... You are... You are to be King. You need not try to fit pre-made and cast-off clothing. What you wish to wear, they will make _for you_. Anything you wish to wear. I have not called them here, for I thought you were simply not ready." He gently turned Oropher to face him. "You will never again need worry that something will not fit you, my love."

Oropher could barely comprehend this and whined softly. "Silweeeee."

_'He is too kind to me,'_ the Sinda thought to himself. 

Illuvarion stroked his hair. "I was wrong in assuming you simply did not wish to dress in such a way..."

"Nn." was all Oropher said. He lay still, allowing Illuvarion to touch him.

He nuzzled his face against Oropher's, and in a very wood-elven way, gently licked the tracks his tears had made down his cheeks. Oropher squirmed, purring his assent as Illuvarion licked him. It was delicate and precious to him.

"You will have anything you wish." Illuvarion licked him a few more times, then kissed him gently. "Anything at all. And jewelry, to match any of it. All of it, if you wish."

"I want robes." said Oropher softly. "Really nice ones."

Illuvarion nuzzled him. "You shall have them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The King of the Greenwood's Big Heckin' Emotion about his clothes provided by the incomparable Doitsuki


End file.
